Library of the world's best mystery and detective stories

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Presented to the

LIBRARY of the

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

by

DR. MARION ROSS

Library of The World's Best

Mystery and Detective Stories

Library of
The World's Best

MYSTERY AND

DETECTIVE

STORIES

Edited by

JULIAN HAWTHORNE

One Hundred and One

Tales of Mystery by Famous Authors

of East and West

In Six Volumes

American French, Italian, Etc.

English : Scotch German, Russian, Etc.

English : Irish Oriental : Modern Magic

New York
The Review of Reviews Company

1908

T R A N S L AT O R S

whose work is represented in this collection
of ''The World's Best MYSTERY and
DETECTIVE STORIES," many here
rendered into English for the first time

Arthur Arrivet Japaneit

John P. Brown Turkhh

United States Legation, Constantinople

Jonathan Sturges Trench

Sir Richard Francis Burton Arabic

Lady Isabel Burton Arabic

Grace I. Colbron German-Scandina'vian

Frederick Taber Cooper, Ph.D. . . Romance Languages

George F. Duysters Spanish

Herbert A. Giles Chinese

Eritish Consular Sen'ice

Glanvill Gill French

D. F. Hannigan, LL.B French

Louis Hoffmann French

Florence Irwin French

Charles Johnston Kunian-Oriental

Royal Asiatic Society, Indian Civil Service

R. Shelton Mackenzie French

Ellen Marriage French

John A. Pierce French

W. R. S. Ralston, M.A Tibetan

Edward Rehatsek Persian

Royal Asiatic Society, Examiner llombay University

Mary J. Safford French

Franz Anton von Schiefner Tibetan

l,ibrarian, St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences
Charles Henry Tawney, M.A., CLE Hindoe

Librarian, India Office

R. Whittling, M.A. (OxoN.) French

Edward Ziegler German

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Library of
The World's Best

MYSTERY AND

DETECTIVE

STORIES

Edited by

JULIAN HAWTHORNE

V.

AMERICAN

Julian Hawthorne Ambrose Bierce

F. Marion Crawford Edgar Allan Poe

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Washington Irving

Melville D. Post Charles Brockden Brown

New York
The Review of Reviews Company

1908

Copyright, 1907, by
The Review of Reviews Company

THE TROW PRESS, NEW YORK

Table of Contents

PAGE

Introduction by Julian Hawthorne.

"Riddle Stones" 9

F. Marion Crawford (1854 — ).

By the Waters of Paradise 21

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman (1862 — ).

The Shadows on the Wall 47

Melville D. Post (1871 — ).

The Corpus Delicti 65

Ambrose Bierce (1842 — ).

An Heiress from Redhorse 97

The Man and the Snake 103

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-49).

The Oblong Box 112

The Gold-Bug 124

Washington Irving (1783-1859).

Wolfert Webber, or Golden Dreams . . . - 165
Adventure of the Black Fisherman 189

Charles Brockden Brown (1771-1810).

Wieland's Madness 222

• ^^ Riddle Stories''^
Introduction by Julian Hawthorne

V\7HEN Poe wrote his immortal Dupin talcs, the name
" Detective " stories had not been invented ; the de-
tective of fiction not having been as yet discovered. And
the title is still something of a misnomer, for many nar-
ratives involving a puzzle of some sort, though belonging
to the category which I wish to discuss, are handled by the
writer without expert detective aid. Sometimes the puzzle
solves itself through operation of circumstance ; sometimes
somebody who professes no special detective skill happens
upon the secret of its mystery ; once in a while some ven-
turesome genius has the courage to leave his enigma unex-
plained. But ever since Gaboriau created his Lecoq, the
transcendant detective has been in favor ; and Conan Doyle's
famous gentleman analyst has given him a fresh lease of
life, and reanimated the stage by reverting to the method
of Poe. Sherlock Holmes is Dupin redivivus, and mutatus
mutandis ; personally he is a more stirring and engaging
companion, but so far as kinship to probabilities or even
possibilities is concerned, perhaps the older version of him
is the more presentable. But in this age of marvels we
seem less difficult to suit in this respect than our forefathers
were.

The fact is, meanwhile, that, in the riddle story, the de-
tective was an afterthought, or, more accurately, a deus ex
machina to make the story go. The riddle had to be un-
riddled ; and who could do it so naturally and readily as a
detective ? The detective, as Poe saw him, was a means to
this end ; and it was only afterwards that writers perceived
his availability as a character. Lecoq accordingly becomes
a figure in fiction, and Sherlock, while he was as yet a

9

American Mystery Stories

novelty, was nearly as attractive as the complications in
which he involved himself. Riddle-story writers in gen-
eral, however, encounter the obvious embarrassment that
their detective is obliged to lavish so much attention on the
professional services which the exigencies of the tale de-
mand of him, that he has very little leisure to expound his
own personal equation — the rather since the attitude of
peering into a millstone is not, of itself, conducive to eluci-
dations of oneself; the professional endowment obscures
all the others. We ordinarily find, therefore, our author
dismissing the individuality of his detective with a few
strong black-chalk outlines, and devoting his main labor
upon what he feels the reader will chiefly occupy his own
ingenuity with, — namely, the elaboration of the riddle itself.
Reader and writer sit down to a game, as it were, with the
odds, of course, altogether on the latter's side, — apart from
the fact that a writer sometimes permits himself a little
cheating. It more often happens that the detective appears
to be in the writer's pay, and aids the deception by leading
the reader off on false scents. Be that as it may, the pro-
fessional sleuth is in nine cases out of ten a dummy by
malice prepense ; and it might be plausibly argued that, in
the interests of pure art, that is what he ought to be. But
genius always finds a way that is better than the rules, and
I think it will be found that the very best riddle stories con-
trive to drive character and riddle side by side, and to make
each somehow enhance the effect of the other. — The inten-
tion of the above paragraph will be more precisely conveyed
if I include under the name of detective not only the man
from the central office, but also anybody whom the writer
may, for ends of his own, consider better qualified for that
function. The latter is a professional detective so far as
the exigencies of the tale are concerned, and what becomes
of him after that nobody need care, — there is no longer any-
thing to prevent his becoming, in his own right, the most
fascinating of mankind.

But in addition to the dummyship of the detective, or to
the cases in which the mere slip of circumstance takes his

lO

Julian Hawthorne

place, there is another reason against narrowing our con-
ception of the riddle story to the degree which the alter-
native appellation would imply. And that is, that it would
exclude not a few of the most captivating riddle stories in
existence ; for in De Quincey's " Avenger," for example, the
interest is not in the unraveling of the web, but in the weav-
ing of it. The same remark applies to Bulwer's " Strange
Story ": it is the strangeness that is the thing. There is, in
short, an inalienable charm in the mere contemplation of
mystery and the hazard of fortunes ; and it would be a pity
to shut them out from our consideration only because there
is no second-sighted conjurer on hand to turn them into
plain matter of fact.

Yet we must not be too liberal ; and a ghost story can be
brought into our charmed and charming circle only if we
have made up our minds to believe in the ghosts ; other-
wise their introduction would not be a square deal. It
would not be fair, in other words, to propose a conundrum
on a basis of ostensible materialism, and then, when no
other key would fit, to palm off a disembodied spirit on us.
Tell me beforehand that your scenario is to include both
worlds, and I have no objection to make ; I simply attune
my mind to the more extensive scope. But I rebel at an
unheralded ghostland, and declare frankly that your tale is
incredible. And I must confess that I would as lief have
ghosts kept out altogether ; their stories make a very good
library in themselves, and have no need to tag themselves
on to what is really another department of fiction. Never-
theless, when a ghost story is told with the consummate art
of a Miss Wilkins, and of one or two others on our list,
consistency in this regard ceases to be a jewel ; art proves
irresistible. As for adventure stories, there is a fringe of
them that comes under the riddle-story head ; but for the
most part the riddle story begins after the adventures have
finished. We are to contemplate a condition, not to watch
the events that ultimate in it. Our detective, or anyone
else, may of course meet with haps and mishaps on his way
to the solution of his puzzle ; but an astute writer will not

II

American Mystery Stories

color such incidents too vividly, lest he risk forfeiting our
preoccupation with the problem that we came forth for to
study. In a word, One thing at a time !

The foregoing disquisition may seem uncalled for by
such rigid moralists as have made up their minds not to
regard detective, or riddle stories, as any part of respect-
able literature at all. With that sect, I announce at the
outset that I am entirely out of sympathy. It is not needed
to compare " The Gold Bug " with " Paradise Lost " ; no-
body denies the superior Uterary stature of the latter, al-
though, as the Oxford Senior Wrangler objected, " What
does it prove ? " But I appeal to Emerson, who, in his
poem of " The Mountain and the Squirrel," states the nub
of the argument, with incomparable feUcity, as follows : —
you will recall that the two protagonists had a difference,
originating in the fact that the former called the latter
'* Little Prig." Bun made a very sprightly retort, sum-
ming up to this effect : —

" Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put ;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut."

Andes and Paradises Lost are expedient and perhaps
necessary in their proper atmosphere and function ; but
Squirrels and Gold Bugs are indispensable in our daily
walk. There is as fine and as true literature in Poe's
Tales as in Milton's epics; only the elevation and dimen-
sions differ. But I would rather live in a world that pos-
sessed only literature of the Poe caliber, than shiver in
one echoing solely the strains of the Miltonian muse.
Mere human beings are not constructed to stand all day
a-tiptoe on the misty mountain tops ; they Uke to walk the
streets most of the time and sit in easy chairs. And
writings that picture the human mind and nature, in true
colors and in artistic proportions, are literature, and no-
body has any business to pooh-pooh them. In fact, I feel
as if I were knocking down a man of straw. I look in

12

Julian Hawthorne

vain for any genuine resistance. Of course " The Gold
Bug " is literature ; of course any other story of mystery
and puzzle is also literature, provided it is as good as " The
Gold Bug," — or I will say, since that standard has never
since been quite attained, provided it is a half or a tenth
as good. It is goldsmith's work; it is Chinese carving; it
is Daedalian ; it is fine. It is the product of the ingenuity
lobe of the human brain working and expatiating in free-
dom. It is art ; not spiritual or transcendental art, but
solid art, to be felt and experienced. You may examine it
at your leisure, it will be always ready for you ; you need
not fast or watch your arms overnight in order to under-
stand it. Look at the nice setting of the mortises ; mark
how the cover fits ; how smooth is the working of that
spring drawer. Observe that this bit of carving, which
seemed mere ornament, is really a vital part of the mechan-
ism. Note, moreover, how balanced and symmetrical the
whole design is, with what economy and foresight every
part is fashioned. It is not only an ingenious structure,
it is a handsome bit of furniture, and will materially im-
prove the looks of the empty chambers, or disorderly or
ungainly chambers that you carry under your crown. Or
if it happen that these apartments are noble in decoration
and proportions, then this captivating little object will find
a suitable place in some spare nook or other, and will rest
or entertain eyes too long focused on the severely sublime
and beautiful. I need not, however, rely upon abstract ar-
gument to support my contention. Many of the best writ-
ers of all time have used their skill in the inverted form of
story telling, as a glance at our table of contents will show ;
and many of their tales depend for their efifect as much on
character and atmosphere as on the play and complication
of events.

The statement that a good detective or riddle story is good
in art is supported by the fact that the supply of really good
ones is relatively small, while the number of writers who
would write good ones if they could, and who have tried
and failed to write them, is past computation. And one

13

American Mystery Stories

reason probably is that such stories, for their success, must
depend primarily upon structure — a sound and perfect plot
— which IS one of the rare things in our contemporary fic-
tion. Our writers get hold of an incident, or a sentiment,
or a character, or a moral principle, or a bit of technical
knowledge, or a splotch of local color, or even of a new
version of dialect, and they will do something in two to ten
thousand words out of that and call it a short story. Maga-
zines may be found to print it — for there are all manner of
magazines ; but nothing of that sort will serve for a riddle
story. You cannot make a riddle story by beginning it and
then trusting to luck to bring it to an end. You must know
all about the end and the middle before thinking, even, of
the beginning ; the beginning of a riddle story, unlike those
of other stories and of other enterprises, is not half the bat-
tle ; it is next to being quite unimportant, and, moreover,
it is always easy. The unexplained corpse lies weltering in
its gore in the first paragraph ; the inexplicable cipher pre-
sents its enigma at the turning of the opening page. The
wTiter who is secure in the knowledge that he has got a
good thing coming, and has arranged the manner and de-
tails of its coming, cannot go far wrong with his exordium ;
he wants to get into action at once, and that is his best
assurance that he will do it in the right way. But O ! what
a labor and sweat it is ; what a planning and trimming ; what
a remodeling, curtailing, interlining; what despairs suc-
ceeded by new lights, what heroic expedients tried at the
last moment, and dismissed the moment after ; what waste-
paper baskets full of futilities, and what gallant commence-
ments all over again ! Did the reader know, or remotely
suspect, what terrific struggles the writer of a really good
detective story had sustained, he would regard the final
product with a new wonder and respect, and read it all over
once more to find out how the troubles occurred. But he
will search in vain ; there are no signs of them left ; no, not
so much as a scar. The tale moves along as smoothly and
inevitably as oiled machinery ; obviously, it could not have
been arranged otherwise than it is; and the wise reader is

14

Julian Hawthorne

convinced that he could have done the thing himself with-
out half trying. At that, the weary writer smiles a bitter
smile ; but it is one of the spurns that patient merit of the
unworthy takes. Nobody, except him who has tried it, will
ever know how hard it is to write a really good detective
story. The man or woman who can do it can also write a
good play (according to modern ideas of plays), and pos-
sesses force of character, individuality, and mental ability.
He or she must combine the intuition of the artist with the
talent of the master mechanic, but will seldom be a poet,
and will generally care more for things and events than for
fellow creatures. For, although the story is often concerned
with righting some wrong, or avenging some murder, yet
it must be confessed that the author commonly succeeds
better in the measure of his ruthlessness in devising crimes
and giving his portraits of devils an extra touch of black.
Mercy is not his strong point, however he may abound in
justice ; and he will not stickle at piling up the agony, if
thereby he provides opportunity for enhancing the pictur-
esqueness and completeness of the evil doer's due.

But this leads me to the admission that one charge, at
least, does lie against the door of the riddle-story writer;
and that is, that he is not sincere; he makes his mysteries
backward, and knows the answer to his riddle before he
states its terms. He deliberately supplies his reader, also,
with all manner of false scents, well knowing them to be
such ; and concocts various seeming artless and innocent
remarks and allusions, which in reality are diabolically art-
ful, and would deceive the very elect. All this, I say, must
be conceded ; but it is not unfair; the very object, ostensibly,
of the riddle story is to prompt you to sharpen your wits ;
and as you are yourself the real detective in the case, so you
must regard your author as the real criminal whom you are
to detect. Credit no statement of his save as supported by
the clearest evidence; be continually repeating to yourself,
" Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes," — nay, never so much
as then. But, as I said before, when the game is well set,
you have no chance whatever against the dealer; and for

15

American Mystery Stories

my own part, I never try to be clever when I go up against
these thimble-riggers ; I believe all they tell me, and accept
the most insolent gold bricks ; and in that way I occasion-
ally catch some of the very ablest of them napping; for
they are so subtle that they will sometimes tell you the
truth because they think you will suppose it to be a lie. I
do not wish to catch them napping, however ; I cling to the
wisdom of ignorance, and childishly enjoy the way in which
things work themselves out — the cul-de-sac resolving itself
at the very last moment into a promising corridor toward
the outer air. At every rebuff it is my happiness to be
hopelessly bewildered ; and I gape with admiration when
the Gordian knot is untied. If the author be old-fashioned
enough to apostrophize the Gentle Reader, I know he must
mean me, and docilely give ear, and presently tumble head-
foremost into the treacherous pit he has digged for me.
In brief, I am there to be sold, and I get my money's worth.
No one can thoroughly enjoy riddle stories unless he is
old enough, or young enough, or, at any rate, wise enough
to appreciate the value of the faculty of being surprised.
Those sardonic and omniscient persons who know every-
thing beforehand, and smile compassionately or scornfully
at the artless outcries of astonishment of those who are un-
informed, may get an ill-natured satisfaction out of the
persuasion that they are superior beings ; but there is very
little meat in that sort of happiness, and the uninformed
have the better lot after all.

I need hardly point out that there is a distinction and a
difference between short riddle stories and long ones —
novels. The former require far more technical art for their
proper development ; the enigma cannot be posed in so many
ways, but must be stated once for all ; there cannot be false
scents, or but a few of them ; there can be small oppor-
tunity for character drawing, and all kinds of ornament
and comment must be reduced to their very lowest terms.
Here, indeed, as everywhere, genius will have its way ; and
while a merely talented writer would deem it impossible
to tell the story of " The Gold Bug " in less than a volume,

i6

Julian Hazvfhorne

Poe could do it in a few thousand words, and yet appear
to have said everything worth saying. In the case of the
Sherlock Holmes tales, they form a series, and our pre-
vious knowledge of the hero enables the writer to dispense
with much description and accompaniment that would be
necessary had that eminent personage been presented in
only a single complication of events. Each special episode
of the great analyst's career can therefore be handled with
the utmost economy, and yet fill all the requirements of
intelligent interest and comprehension. But, as a rule, the
riddle novel approaches its theme in a spirit essentially
other than that which inspires the short tale. We are given,
as it were, a wide landscape instead of a detailed genre
picture. The number of the dramatis persona is much
larger, and the parts given to many of them may be very
small, though each should have his or her necessary func-
tion in the general plan. It is much easier to create per-
plexity on these terms; but on the other hand, the riddle
novel demands a power of vivid character portrayal and of
telling description which are not indispensable in the "briefer
narrative. A famous tale, published perhaps forty years
ago, but which cannot be included in our series, tells the
story of a murder the secret of which is admirably con-
cealed till the last ; and much of the fascination of the book
is due to the ability with which the leading character, and
some of the surbordinate ones, are drawn. The author was
a woman, and I have often marveled that women so sel-
dom attempt this form of literature; many of them pos-
sess a good constructive faculty, and their love of detail
and of mystery is notorious. Perhaps they are too fond
of sentiment; and sentiment must be handled with caution
in riddle stories. The fault of all riddle novels is that
they inevitably involve two kinds of interest, and can sel-
dom balance these so perfectly that one or the other of
them, shall not suffer, ^he mind of the reader becomes
weary in its frequent journeys between human characters
on one side the mysterious events on the other, and
would prefer the more single-eyed treatment of the short

17

American Mystery Stories

tale. Wonder, too, Is a very tender and short-lived emo-
tion, and sometimes perishes after a few pages. Curiosity-
is tougher ; but that too may be baffled too long, and end
by tiring of the pursuit while it is yet in its early stages.
Many excellent plots, admirable from the constructive point
of view, have been wasted by stringing them out too far;
the reader recognizes their merit, but loses his enthusiasm
on account of a sort of monotony of strain; he wickedly
turns to the concluding chapter, and the game is up.
*' The Woman in White," by Wilkie Collins, was published
about i860, I think, in weekly installments, and certainly
they were devoured with insatiable appetite by many thou-
sands of readers. But I doubt whether a book of similar
merit could command such a following to-day; and I will
even confess that I have myself never read the concluding
parts, and do not know to this day who the woman was
or what were the wrongs from which she so poignantly
suffered.

The tales contained in the volumes herewith offered are
the best riddle or detective stories in the world, according
to the best judgment of the editors. They are the product
of writers of all nations ; and translation, in this case, is
less apt to be misleading than with most other forms of
literature, for a mystery or a riddle is equally captivating
in all languages. Many of the good ones — perhaps some
of the best ones — have been left out, either because we
missed them in our search, or because we had to choose
between them and others seemingly of equal excellence,
and were obliged to consider space limitations which, how-
ever generously laid out, must have some end at last. Be
that as it may, we believe that there are enough good stories
here to satisfy the most Gargantuan hunger, and we feel
sure that our volumes will never be crowded off the shelf
which has once made room for them. If we have, now and
then, a little transcended the strict definition of the class
of fiction which our title would promise, we shall never-
theless not anticipate any serious quarrel with our readers ;
if there be room to question the right of any given story

18

Julian Hawthorne

to appear in this company, there will be all the more reason
for accepting it on its own merits ; for it had to be very
good indeed in order to overcome its technical disquali-
fication. And if it did not rightfully belong here, there
would probably be objections as strong to admitting it in
any other collection. Between two or more stools, it would
be a pity to let it fall to the ground ; so let it be forgiven,
and please us with whatever gift it has.

In many cases where copyrights were still unexpired, we
have to express our acknowledgments to writers and pub-
lishers who have accorded us the courtesy of their leave to
reproduce what their genius or enterprise has created and
put forth. To our readers we take pleasure in presenting
what we know cannot fail to give them pleasure — a collec-
tion of the fruits of the finest literary ingenuity and nicest
art accessible to the human mind. Gaudeat, non caveat
emptor!

Julian Hawthorne.

American Mystery Stories

F. Marion Crawford
By the Waters of Paradise

I

T REMEMBER my childhood very distinctly. I do not
think that the fact argues a good memory, for I have
never been clever at learning words by heart, in prose or
rhyme; so that I believe my remembrance of events de-
pends much more upon the events themselves than upon my
possessing any special facility for recalling them. Perhaps
I am too imaginative, and the earliest impressions I received
were of a kind to stimulate the imagination abnormally. A
long series of little misfortunes, so connected with each other
as to suggest a sort of weird fatality, so worked upon my
melancholy temperament when I was a boy that, before I
was of age, I sincerely believed myself to be under a curse,
and not only myself, but my whole family and every indi-
vidual who bore my name.

I was born in the old place where my father, and his
father, and all his predecessors had been born, beyond the
memory of man. It is a very old house, and the greater
part of it was originally a castle, strongly fortified, and
surrounded by a deep moat supplied with abundant water
from the hills by a hidden aqueduct. Many of the fortifica-
tions have been destroyed, and the moat has been filled up.
The water from the aqueduct supplies great fountains, and
runs down into huge oblong basins in the terraced gardens,
one below the other, each surrounded by a broad pavement
of marble between the water and the flower-beds. The
waste surplus finally escapes through an artificial grotto,
some thirty yards long, into a stream, flowing down through
the park to the meadows beyond, and thence to the distant

21

American Mystery Stories

river. The buildings were extended a little and greatly
altered more than two hundred years ago, in the time of
Charles II., but since then little has been done to improve
them, though they have been kept in fairly good repair, ac-
cording to our fortunes.

In the gardens there are terraces and huge hedges of box
and evergreen, some of which used to be clipped into shapes
of animals, in the Italian style. I can remember when I
was a lad how I used to try to make out what the trees
were cut to represent, and how I used to appeal for ex-
planations to Judith, my Welsh nurse. She dealt in a
strange mythology of her own, and peopled the gardens
with griffins, dragons, good genii and bad, and filled my
mind with them at the same time. My nursery window
aftorded a view of the great fountains at the head of the
tipper basin, and on moonlight nights the Welshwoman
would hold me up to the glass and bid me look at the mist
and spray rising into mysterious shapes, moving mystically
in the white light like living things.

" It's the Woman of the Water," she used to say ; and
sometimes she would threaten that if I did not go to sleep
the Woman of the Water would steal up to the high win-
dow and carry me away in her wet arms.

The place was gloomy. The broad basins of water and
the tall evergreen hedges gave it a funereal look, and the
damp-stained marble causeways by the pools might have
been made of tombstones. The gray and weather-beaten
walls and towers without, the dark and massively furnished
rooms within, the deep, mysterious recesses and the heavy
curtains, all affected my spirits. I was silent and sad from
my childhood. There was a great clock tower above, from
which the hours rang dismally during the day, and tolled
like a knell in the dead of night. There was no light nor
life in the house, for my mother was a helpless invalid, and
my father had grown melancholy in his long task of caring
for her. He was a thin, dark man, with sad eyes ; kind, I
think, but silent and imhappy. Next to my mother, I be-
lieve he loved me better than anything on earth, for he took

22

F. Marion Crazuford

immense pains and trouble in teaching me, and what he
taught me I have never forgotten. Perhaps it was his only
amusement, and that may be the reason why I had no
nursery governess or teacher of any kind while he lived.

I used to be taken to see my mother every day, and some-
times twice a day, for an hour at a time. Then I sat upon a
little stool nea'r her feet, and she would ask me what I had
been doing, and what I wanted to do. I dare say she saw
already the seeds of a profound melancholy in my nature,
for she looked at me always with a sad smile, and kissed
me with a sigh when I was taken away.

One night, when I was just six years old, I lay awake in
the nursery. The door was not quite shut, and the Welsh
nurse was sitting sewing in the next room. Suddenly I
heard her groan, and say in a strange voice, " One — two —
one — two!" I was frightened, and I jumped up and ran
to the door, barefooted as I was.

" What is it, Judith?" I cried, clinging to her skirts. I
can remember the look in her strange dark eyes as she an-
swered :

" One — two leaden coffins, fallen from the ceiling ! " she
crooned, working herself in her chair. " One — two — a light
coffin and a heavy coffin, falling to the floor ! "

Then she seemed to notice me, and she took me back to
bed and sang me to sleep with a queer old Welsh song.

I do not know how it was, but the impression got hold
of me that she had meant that my father and mother were
going to die very soon. They died in the very room where
she had been sitting that night. It was a great room, my
day nursery, full of sun when there was an}- ; and when
the days were dark it was the most cheerful place in the
house. My mother grew rapidly worse, and I was trans-
ferred to another part of the building to make place for her.
They thought my nursery was gayer for her, I suppose ;
but she could not live. She was beautiful when she was
dead, and I cried bitterly.

" The light one, the light one — the heavy one to come,"
crooned the Welshwoman. And she was right. My father

23

American Mystery Stories

took the room after my mother was gone, and day by day
he grew thinner and paler and sadder.

" The heavy one, the heavy one — all of lead," moaned my
nurse, one night in December, standing still, just as she was
going to take away the light after putting me to bed. Then
she took me up again and wrapped me in a little gown, and
led me away to my father's room. She knocked, but no one
answered. She opened the door, and we found him in his
easy chair before the fire, very white, quite dead.

So I was alone with the Welshwoman till strange people
came, and relations whom I had never seen ; and then I
heard them saying that I must be taken away to some more
cheerful place. They were kind people, and I will not be-
lieve that they were kind only because I was to be very rich
when I grew to be a man. The world never seemed to be
a very bad place to me, nor all the people to be miserable
sinners, even when I was most melancholy, I do not re-
member that anyone ever did me any great injustice, nor
that I was ever oppressed or ill treated in any way, even by
the boys at school. I was sad, I suppose, because my child-
hood was so gloomy, and, later, because I was unlucky in
everything I undertook, till I finally believed I was pursued
by fate, and I used to dream that the old Welsh nurse and
the Woman of the Water between them had vowed to pursue
me to my end. But my natural disposition should have been
cheerful, as I have often thought.

Among the lads of my age I was never last, or even
among the last, in anything; but I was never first. If I
trained for a race, I was sure to sprain my ankle on the
day when I was to run. If I pulled an oar with others,
my oar was sure to break. If I competed for a prize, some
unforeseen accident prevented my winning it at the last mo-
ment. Nothing to which I put my hand succeeded, and I
got the reputation of being unlucky, until my companions
felt it was always safe to bet against me, no matter what
the appearances might be. I became discouraged and list-
less in everything. I gave up the idea of competing for any
distinction at the University, comforting myself with the

24

F. Marion Crawford

thought that I could not fail in the examination for the ordi-
nary degree. The day before the examination began I fell
ill ; and when at last I recovered, after a narrow escape
from death, I turned my back upon Oxford, and went down
alone to visit the old place where I had been born, feeble in
health and profoundly disgusted and discouraged. I was
twenty-one years of age, master of myself and of my for-
tune ; but so deeply had the long chain of small unlucky
circumstances affected me that I thought seriously of shut-
ting myself up from the world to live the life of a hermit
and to die as soon as possible. Death seemed the only
cheerful possibility in my existence, and my thoughts soon
dwelt upon it altogether.

I had never shown any wish to return to my own home
since I had been taken away as a little boy, and no one had
ever pressed me to do so. The place had been kept in order
after a fashion, and did not seem to have suffered during
the fifteen years or more of my absence. Nothing earthly
could affect those old gray walls that had fought the ele-
ments for so many centuries. The garden was more wild
than I remembered it ; the marble causeways about the pools
looked more yellow and damp than of old, and the whole
place at first looked smaller. It was not until I had wan-
dered about the house and grounds for many hours that I
realized the huge size of the home where I was to live in
solitude. Then I began to delight in it, and my resolution
to live alone grew stronger.

The people had turned out to welcome me, of course, and
I tried to recognize the changed faces of the old gardener
and the old housekeeper, and to call them by name. My
old nurse I knew at once. She had grown very gray since
she heard the coffins fall in the nursery fifteen years before,
but her strange eyes were the same, and the look in them
woke all my old memories. She went over the house with
me.

" And how is the Woman of the Water ? " I asked, try-
ing to laugh a little. " Does she still play in the moon-
light?"

25

American Mystery Stories

" She is hungry," answered the Welshwoman, in a low
voice.

" Hungry? Then we will feed her." I laughed. But old
Judith turned very pale, and looked at me strangely.

"Feed her? Aye — you will feed her well," she mut-
tered, glancing behind her at the ancient housekeeper, who
tottered after us with feeble steps through the halls and
passages.

I did not think much of her words. She had always
talked oddly, as Welshwomen will, and though I was very
melancholy I am sure I was not superstitious, and I was
certainly not timid. Only, as in a far-off dream, I seemed
to see her standing with the light in her hand and mut-
tering, " The heavy one — all of lead," and then leading a
little boy through the long corridors to see his father lying
dead in a great easy chair before a smoldering fire. So we
w^ent over the house, and I chose the rooms where I would
live; and the servants I had brought wdth me ordered and
arranged everything, and I had no more trouble. I did not
care what they did provided I was left in peace and was
not expected to give directions ; for I was more listless than
ever, owing to the effects of my illness at college.

I dined in solitary state, and the melancholy grandeur of
the vast old dining-room pleased me. Then I went to the
room I had selected for my study, and sat down in a deep
chair, under a bright light, to think, or to let my thoughts
meander through labyrinths of their own choosing, utterly
indifferent to the course they might take.

The tall windows of the room opened to the level of the
ground upon the terrace at the head of the garden. It was
in the end of July, and everything was open, for the weather
was warm. As I sat alone I heard the unceasing splash of
the great fountains, and I fell to thinking of the Woman
of the Water. I rose and went out into the still night, and
sat down upon a seat on the terrace, between two gigantic
Italian flower pots. The air was deliciously soft and sweet
with the smell of the flowers, and the garden was more
congenial to me than the house. Sad people always like

26

F. Marion Craivford

running water and the sound of it at night, though I cannot
tell why. I sat and listened in the gloom, for it was dark
below, and the pale moon had not yet climbed over the hills
in front of me, though all the air above was light with her
rising beams. Slowly the white halo in the eastern sky
ascended in an arch above the wooded crests, making the
outlines of the mountains more intensely black by contrast,
as though the head of some great white saint were rising
from behind a screen in a vast cathedral, throwing misty
glories from below. I longed to see the moon herself, and
I tried to reckon the seconds before she must appear. Then
she sprang up quickly, and in a moment more hung round
and perfect in the sky. I gazed at her, and then at the
floating spray of the tall fountains, and down at the pools,
where the water lilies were rocking softly in their sleep on
the velvet surface of the moonlit water. Just then a great
swan floated out silently into the midst of the basin, and
wreathed his long neck, catching the water in his broad bill,
and scattering showers of diamonds around him.

Suddenly, as I gazed, something came between me and
the light. I looked up instantly. Between me and the round
disk of the moon rose a luminous face of a woman, with
great strange eyes, and a woman's mouth, full and soft, but
not smiling, hooded in black, staring at me as I sat still
upon my bench. She was close to me — so close that I could
have touched her with my hand. But I was transfixed and
helpless. She stood still for a moment, but her expression
did not change. Then she passed swiftly away, and my hair
stood up on my head, while the cold breeze from her white
dress was wafted to my temples as she moved. The moon-
light, shining through the tossing spray of the fountain,
made traceries of shadow on the gleaming folds of her gar-
ments. In an instant she was gone and I was alone.

I was strangely shaken by the vision, and some time
passed before I could rise to my feet, for I was still weak
from my illness, and the sight I had seen would have
startled anyone. I did not reason with myself, for I was
certain that I had looked on the unearthly, and no argu-

27

Aim-rican Mystery Stories

ment could have destroyed that beHef. At last I got up
and stood unsteadily, gazing in the direction in which I
thought the face had gone ; but there was nothing to be seen
— nothing but the broad paths, the tall, dark evergreen
hedges, the tossing water of the fountains and the smooth
pool below. I fell back upon the seat and recalled the face
I had seen. Strange to say, now that the first impression
had passed, there was nothing startling in the recollection ;
on the contrary, I felt that I was fascinated by the face, and
would give anything to see it again. I could retrace the
beautiful straight features, the long dark eyes, and the won-
derful mouth most exactly in my mind, and when I had re-
constructed every detail from memory I knew that the whole
was beautiful, and that I should love a woman with such a
face.

" I wonder whether she is the Woman of the Water ! " I
said to myself. Then rising once more, I wandered down
the garden, descending one short flight of steps after an-
other from terrace to terrace by the edge of the marble
basins, through the shadow and through the moonlight ; and
I crossed the water by the rustic bridge above the artificial
grotto, and climbed slowly up again to the highest terrace
by the other side. The air seemed sweeter, and I was very
calm, so that I think I smiled to myself as I walked, as
though a new happiness had come to me. The woman's
face seemed always before me, and the thought of it gave
me an unwonted thrill of pleasure, unlike anything I had
ever felt before.

I turned as I reached the house, and looked back upon
the scene. It had certainly changed in the short hour since
I had come out, and my mood had changed with it. Just
like my luck, I thought, to fall in love with a ghost! But
in old times I would have sighed, and gone to bed more
sad than ever, at such a melancholy conclusion. To-night I
felt happy, almost for the first time in my life. The gloomy
old study seemed cheerful when I went in. The old pictures
on the walls smiled at me, and I sat down in my deep chair
with a new and delightful sensation that I was not alone.

28

F. Marion Crawford

The idea of having seen a ghost, and of feeling much the
better for it, was so absurd that I laughed softly, as I took
up one of the books I had brought with me and began to
read.

That impression did not wear off. I slept peacefully, and
in the morning I threw open my windows to the summer
air and looked down at the garden, at the stretches of green
and at the colored flower-beds, at the circling swallows and
at the bright water.

" A man might make a paradise of this place," I ex-
claimed. " A man and a woman together ! "

From that day the old Castle no longer seemed gloomy,
and I think I ceased to be sad ; for some time, too, I began
lo take an interest in the place, and to try and make it more
alive. I avoided my old Welsh nurse, lest she should damp
my humor with some dismal prophecy, and recall my old
self by bringing back memories of my dismal childhood.
But what I thought of most was the ghostly figure I had
seen in the garden that first night after my arrival. I went
out every evening and wandered through the walks and
paths ; but, try as I might, I did not see my vision again.
At last, after many days, the memory grew more faint, and
my old moody nature gradually overcame the temporary
sense of lightness I had experienced. The summer turned
to autumn, and I grew restless. It began to rain. The
dampness pervaded the gardens, and the outer halls smelled
musty, like tombs; the gray sky oppressed me intolerably.
I left the place as it was and went abroad, determined to try
anything which might possibly make a second break in the
monotonous melancholy from which I suffered.

II

Most people would be struck by the utter insignificance
of the small events which, after the death of my parents,
influenced my life and made me unhappy. The grewsome
forebodings of a Welsh nurse, which chanced to be realized

29

American Mystery Stories

by an odd coincidence of events, should not seem enough to
change the nature of a child and to direct the bent of his
character in after years. The little disappointments of
schoolboy life, and the somewhat less childish ones of an
uneventful and undistinguished academic career, should not
have sufficed to turn me out at one-and-twenty years of age
a melancholic, listless idler. Some weakness of my own
character may have contributed to the result, but in a greater
degree it was due to my having a reputation for bad luck.
However, I will not try to analyze the causes of my state,
for I should satisfy nobody, least of all myself. Still less
will I attempt to explain why I felt a temporary revival of
my spirits after my adventure in the garden. It is certain
that I was in love with the face I had seen, and that I
longed to see it again ; that I gave up all hope of a second
visitation, grew more sad than ever, packed up my traps,
and finally went abroad. But in my dreams I went back
to my home, and it ahvays appeared to me sunny and bright,
as it had looked on that summer's morning after I had seen
the woman by the fountain.

I went to Paris. I went farther, and wandered about
Germany. I tried to amuse myself, and I failed miserably.
With the aimless whims of an idle and useless man come all
sorts of suggestions for good resolutions. One day I made
up my mind that I would go and bury myself in a German
university for a time, and live simply like a poor student. I
started with the intention of going to Leipzig, determined
to stay there until some event should direct my life or
change my humor, or make an end of me altogether. The
express train stopped at some station of which I did not
know the name. It was dusk on a winter's afternoon, and
I peered through the thick glass .from my seat. Suddenly
another train came gliding in from the opposite direction,
and stopped alongside of ours. I looked at the carriage
which chanced to be abreast of mine, and idly read the black
letters painted on a white board swinging from the brass
handrail: Berlin — Cologne — Paris. Then I looked up at
the window above. I started violently, and the cold per-

30

F. Marion Crcnvford

spiration broke out upon my forehead. In the dim h'ght,
not six feet from where I sat, I saw the face of a woman,
the face I loved, the straight, fine features, the strange eyes,
the wonderful mouth, the pale skin. Her head-dress was a
dark veil which seemed to be tied about her head and passed
over the shoulders under her chin. As I threw down the
window and knelt on the cushioned seat, leaning far out to
get a better view, a long whistle screamed through the sta-
tion, followed by a quick series of dull, clanking sounds;
then there was a slight jerk, and my train moved on. Luck-
ily the window was narrow, being the one over the seat,
beside the door, or I believe I would have jumped out of it
then and there. In an instant the speed increased, and I
was being carried swiftly away in the opposite direction
from the thing I loved.

For a quarter of an hour I lay back in my place, stunned
by the suddenness of the apparition. At last one of the two
other passengers, a large and gorgeous captain of the White
Konigsberg Cuirassiers, civilly but firmly suggested that I
might shut my window, as the evening was cold. I did so,
with an apology, and relapsed into silence. The train ran
swiftly on for a long time, and it was already beginning to
slacken speed before entering another station, when I roused
myself and made a sudden resolution. As the carriage
stopped before the brilliantly lighted platform, I seized my
belongings, saluted my fellow-passengers, and got out, de-
termined to take the first express back to Paris.

This time the circumstances of the vision had been so
natural that it did not strike me that there was anything
unreal about the face, or about the woman to whom it be-
longed. I did not try to explain to myself how the face,
and the woman, could be traveling by a fast train from Ber-
lin to Paris on a winter's afternoon, w^hen both were in my
mind indelibly associated with the moonlight and the foun-
tains in my own English home. I certainly would not have
admitted that I had been mistaken in the dusk, attributing
to what I had seen a resemblance to my former vision which
did not really exist. There was not the slightest doubt in

31

American Mystery Stories

my mind, and I was positively sure that I had again seen
the face I loved. I did not hesitate, and in a few hours I
was on my way back to Paris. I could not help reflectir.j^
on my ill luck. Wandering as I had been for many months,
it might as easily have chanced that I should be traveling in
the same train with that woman, instead of going the other
way. But my luck was destined to turn for a time.

I searched Paris for several days. I dined at the prin-
cipal hotels ; I went to the theaters ; I rode in the Bois de
Boulogne in the morning, and picked up an acquaintance,
whom I forced to drive with me in the afternoon. I went
to mass at the Madeleine, and I attended the services at the
English Church. I hung about the Louvre and Notre Dame.
I went to Versailles. I spent hours in parading the Rue de
Rivoli, in the neighborhood of Meurice's corner, where
foreigners pass and repass from morning till night. At last
I received an invitation to a reception at the English Em-
bassy. I went, and I found what I had sought so long.

There she was, sitting by an old lady in gray satin and
diamonds, who had a wrinkled but kindly face and keen
gray eyes that seemed to take in everything they saw, with
very little inclination to give much in return. But I did not
notice the chaperon. I saw only the face that had haunted
me for months, and in the excitement of the moment I
walked quickly toward the pair, forgetting such a trifle as
the necessity for an introduction.

She was far more beautiful than I had thought, but I
never doubted that it was she herself and no other. Vision
or no vision before, this was the reality, and I knew it.
Twice her hair had been covered, now at last I saw it, and
the added beauty of its magnificence glorified the whole
woman. It was rich hair, fine and abundant, golden, with
deep ruddy tints in it like red bronze spun fine. There was
no ornament in it, not a rose, not a thread of gold, and I
felt that it needed nothing to enhance its splendor ; nothing
but her pale face, her dark strange eyes, and her heavy eye-
brows. I could see that she was slender too, but strong
withal, as she sat there quietly gazing at the moving scene

32

F. Marion Crazvford

in the midst of the brilHant lights and the hum of perpetual
conversation.

I recollected the detail of introduction in time, and turned
aside to look for my host. I found him at last. I begged
him to present me to the two ladies, pointing them out to
him at the same time.

" Yes — uh — by all means — uh," replied his Excellency
with a pleasant smile. He evidently had no idea of my
name, which was not to be wondered at.

" I am Lord Cairngorm," I observed.

" Oh — by all means," answered the Ambassador with the
same hospitable smile. " Yes — uh — the fact is, I must try
and find out who they are ; such lots of people, you know."

" Oh, if you will present me, I will try and find out for
you," said I, laughing.

" Ah, yes — so kind of you — come along," said my host.
We threaded the crowd, and in a few minutes we stood be-
fore the two ladies.

" 'Lowmintrduce L'd Cairngorm," he said ; then, adding
quickly to me, " Come and dine to-morrow, won't you? " he
glided away with his pleasant smile and disappeared in the
crowd.

I sat down beside the beautiful girl, conscious that the
eyes of the duenna were upon me,

" I think we have been very near meeting before," I re-
marked, by way of opening the conversation.

My companion turned her eyes full upon me with an air
of inquiry. She evidently did not recall my face, if she had
ever seen me.

" Really — I cannot remember," she observed, in a low and
musical voice. " When ? "

" In the first place, you came down from Berlin by the
express ten days ago. I was going the other way, and our
carriages stopped opposite each other. I saw you at the
window."

" Yes — we came that way, but I do not remember "

She hesitated.

" Secondly," I continued, " I was sitting alone in my gar-

33

American Mystery Stories

den last summer — near the end of July — do you remember?
You must have wandered in there through the park; you
came up to the house and looked at me "

"Was that you?" she asked, in evident surprise. Then
she broke into a laugh. " I told everybody I had seen a
ghost ; there had never been any Cairngorms in the place
since the memory of man. V/e left the next day, and never
heard that you had come there ; indeed, I did not know the
castle belonged to you."

" Where were you staying? " I asked.

" Where ? Why, v/ith my aunt, where I always stay.
She is your neighbor, since it is you."

" I — beg your pardon — but then — is your aunt Lady Blue-
bell ? I did not quite catch "

" Don't be afraid. She is amazingly deaf. Yes. She is
the relict of my beloved uncle, the sixteenth or seventeenth
Baron Bluebell — I forget exactly how many of them there
have been. And I — do you know who I am ? " She laughed,
well knowing that I did not.

" No," I answered frankly, " I have not the least idea.
I asked to be introduced because I recognized you. Per-
haps— perhaps you are a Miss Bluebell ? "

" Considering that you are a neighbor, I will tell you
who I am," she answered. " No ; I am of the tribe of Blue-
bells, but my name is Lammas, and I have been given to
understand that I was christened Margaret. Being a floral
family, they call me Daisy. A dreadful American man once
told me that my aunt Vv'as a Bluebell and that I was a
Harebell — with two I's and an e — because my hair is so
thick. I warn you, so that you may avoid making such
a bad pun."

" Do I look like a man who makes puns ? " I asked, being
very conscious of my melancholy face and sad looks.

Miss Lammas eyed me critically.

" No ; you have a mournful temperament. I think I can
trust you," she answered. " Do you think you could com-
municate to my aunt the fact that you are a Cairngorm and

a neighbor? I am sure she would like to know,

34

>>

F. Marion Cratvford

I leaned toward the old lady, inflating my lungs for a
yell. But Miss Lammas stopped me.

" That is not of the slightest use," she remarked. " You
can write it on a bit of paper. She is utterly deaf."

" I have a pencil," I answered ; " but I have no paper.
Would my cuff do, do you think? "

" Oh, yes ! " replied Miss Lammas, with alacrity ; " men
often do that."

I wrote on my cuff : " Miss Lammas wishes me to explain
that I am your neighbor, Cairngorm." Then I held out my
arm before the old lady's nose. She seemed perfectly accus-
tomed to the proceeding, put up her glasses, read the words,
smiled, nodded, and addressed me in the unearthly voice
peculiar to people who hear nothing.

" I knew your grandfather very well," she said. Then
she smiled and nodded to me again, and to her niece, and
relapsed into silence.

" It is all right," remarked Miss Lammas. " Aunt Blue-
bell knows she is deaf, and does not say much, like the par-
rot. You see, she knew your grandfather. How odd that
we should be neighbors ! Why have we never met before ? "

" If you had told me you knew my grandfather when you
appeared in the garden, I should not have been in the least
surprised," I answered rather irrelevantly. " I really
thought you were the ghost of the old fountain. How in
the world did you come there at that hour ? "

" We were a large party and we went out for a walk.
Then we thought we should like to see w^hat your park was
like in the moonlight, and so we trespassed. I got separated
from the rest, and came upon you by accident, just as I was
admiring the extremely ghostly look of your house, and
wondering whether anybody would ever come and live there
again. It looks like the castle of Macbeth, or a scene from
the opera. Do you know anybody here ? "

" Hardly a soul ! Do you? "

" No. Aunt Bluebell said it was our dutv to come. It is
easy for her to go out ; she does not bear the burden of the
conversation."

35

American Mystery Stories

" I am sorry you find it a burden," said I. " Shall I go
away ? "

Miss Lammas looked at me with a sudden gravity in her
beautiful eyes, and there was a sort of hesitation about the
lines of her full, soft mouth.

" No," she said at last, quite simply, " don't go away.
We may like each other, if you stay a little longer — and we
ought to, because we are neighbors in the country."

I suppose I ought to have thought Miss Lammas a very
odd girl. There is, indeed, a sort of freemasonry between
people who discover that they live near each other and that
they ought to have known each other before. But there was
a sort of unexpected frankness and simplicity in the girl's
amusing manner which would have struck anyone else as
being singular, to say the least of it. To me, however, it all
seemed natural enough. I had dreamed of her face too long
not to be utterly happy when I met her at last and could
talk to her as much as I pleased. To me, the man of ill luck
in everything, the whole meeting seemed too good to be
true. I felt again that strange sensation of lightness which
I had experienced after I had seen her face in the garden.
The great rooms seemed brighter, life seemed worth living ;
my sluggish, melancholy blood ran faster, and filled me with
a new sense of strength. I said to myself that without this
woman I was but an imperfect being, but that with her I
could accomplish everything to which I should set my hand.
Like the great Doctor, when he thought he had cheated
Mephistopheles at last, I could have cried aloud to the fleet-
ing moment, Verweile dock, du hist so sch'dn!

" Are you always gay ? " I asked, suddenly, " How
happy you must be ! "

" The days would sometimes seem very long if I were
gloomy," she answered, thoughtfully. " Yes, I think I find
life very pleasant, and I tell it so."

" How can you ' tell life ' anything? " I inquired. " If I
could catch my life and talk to it, I would abuse it pro-
digiously, I assure you."

" I dare say. You have a melancholv temper. You ought

36

F. Marion Crawford

to live out-of-doors, dig potatoes, make hay, shoot, hunt,
tumble into ditches, and come home muddy and hungry for
dinner. It would be much better for you than moping in
your rook tower and hating everything."

" It is rather lonely down there," I murmured, apolo-
getically, feeling that Miss Lammas was quite right.

" Then marry, and quarrel with your wife," she laughed,
" Anything is better than being alone."

" I am a very peaceable person. I never quarrel with any-
body. You can try it. You will find it quite impossible."

" Will you let me try ? " she asked, still smiling.

" By all means — especially if it is to be only a preliminary
canter," I answered, rashly.

" What do you mean ? " she inquired, turning quickly
upon me.

" Oh — nothing. You might try my paces with a view to
quarreling in the future. I cannot imagine how you are
going to do it. You will have to resort to immediate and
direct abuse."

" No. I will only say that if you do not like your life, it
is your own fault. How can a man of your age talk of
being melancholy, or of the hollowness of existence? Are
you consumptive? Are you subject to hereditary insanity?
Are you deaf, like Aunt Bluebell? Are you poor, like —
lots of people? Have you been crossed in love? Have you
lost the world for a woman, or any particular woman for
the sake of the world ? Are you feeble-minded, a cripple, an
outcast ? Are you — repulsively ugly ? " She laughed again.
" Is there any reason in the world why you should not enjoy
all you have got in life ? "

*' No. There is no reason whatever, except that I am
dreadfully unlucky, especially in small things."

" Then try big things, just for a change," suggested Miss
Lammas. " Try and get married, for instance, and see how
it turns out."

" If it turned out badly it would be rather serious."

" Not half so serious as it is to abuse everything unreason-
ably. If abuse is your particular talent, abuse something

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that ought to be abused. Abuse the Conservatives — or the
Liberals — it does not matter which, since they are always
abusing each other. Make yourself felt by other people.
You will like it, if they don't. It will make a man of you.
Fill your mo;ith W'ith pebbles, and howl at the sea, if you
cannot do anything else. It did Demosthenes no end of
good, you know. You will have the satisfaction of imitating
a great man."

" Really, Miss Lammas, I think the list of innocent exer-
cises you propose "

" Very well — if you don't care for that sort of thing, care
for some other sort of thing. Care for something, or hate
something. Don't be idle. Life is short, and though art
may be long, plenty of noise answers nearly as well."

" I do care for something — I mean, somebody," I said.

"A woman? Then marry her. Don't hesitate."

" I do not know whether she would marry me," I replied.
" I have never asked her."

" Then ask her at once," answered Miss Lammas. " I
shall die happy if I feel I have persuaded a melancholy fel-
low creature to rouse himself to action. Ask her, by all
means, and see what she says. If she does not accept you
at once, she may take you the next time. Meanwhile, you
will have entered for the race. If you lose, there are the
* All-aged Trial Stakes,' and the ' Consolation Race.' "

" And plenty of selling races into the bargain. Shall I
take you at your word. Miss Lammas ? "

" I hope you will," she answered.

" Since you yourself advise me, I will. }kliss Lammas,
will you do me the honor to marry me ? "

For the first time in my life the blood rushed to my head
and my sight swam. I cannot tell why I said it. It would
be useless to try to explain the extraordinary fascination the
girl exercised over me, or the still more extraordinary feel-
ing of intimacy with her which had grown in me during that
half hour. Lonely, sad, unlucky as I had been all my life,
I was certainly not timid, nor even shy. But to propose to
marry a woman after half an hour's acquaintance was a

38

F. Marion Crawford

piece of madness of which I never beheved myself capable,
and of which I should never be capable again, could I be
placed in the same situation. It was as though my whole
being had been changed in a moment by magic — by the white
magic of her nature brought into contact with mine. The
blood sank back to my heart, and a moment later I found
myself staring at her with anxious eyes. To my amaze-
ment she was as calm as ever, but her beautiful mouth
smiled, and there was a mischievous light in her dark-
brown eyes.

" Fairly caught," she answered. " For an individual who
pretends to be listless and sad you are not lacking in humor.
I had really not the least idea what you were going to say.
Wouldn't it be singularly awkward for you if I had said
' Yes ' ? I never saw anybody begin to practice so sharply
Vvdiat was preached to him — with so very little loss of time 1 "

" You probably never met a man who had dreamed of you
for seven months before being introduced."

" No, I never did," she answered gayly. " It smacks of
the romantic. Perhaps you are a romantic character, after
all. I should think you were if I believed you. Very well ;
you have taken my advice, entered for a Stranger's Race and
lost it. Try the All-aged Trial Stakes. You have another
cuff, and a pencil. Propose to Aunt Bluebell; she would
dance with astonishment, and she might recover her
hearing."

Ill

That was how I first asked Margaret Lammas to be my
wife, and I will agree with anyone who says I behaved very
fooHshly. But I have not repented of it, and I never shall.
I have long ago understood that I was out of my mind that
evening, but I think my temporary insanity on that occasion
has had the effect of making me a saner man ever since.
Her manner turned my head, for it was so different from
what I had expected. To hear this lovely creature, who,

39

American Mystery Stories

in my imagination, was a heroine of romance, if not of
tragedy, talking familiarly and laughing readily was more
than my equanimity could bear, and I lost my head as well
as my heart. But when I went back to England in the
spring, I went to make certain arrangements at the Castle
— certain changes and improvements which would be abso-
lutely necessary. I had won the race for which I had
entered myself so rashly, and we were to be married in
June.

Whether the change was due to the orders I had left with
the gardener and the rest of the servants, or to my own state
of mind, I cannot tell. At all events, the old place did not
look the same to me when I opened my window on the morn-
ing after my arrival. There were the gray walls below me
and the gray turrets flanking the huge building ; there w^ere
the fountains, the marble causeways, the smooth basins, the
tall box hedges, the water lilies and the swans, just as of
old. But there was something else there, too — something in
the air, in the water, and in the greenness that I did not
recognize — a light over everything by which everything was
transfigured. The clock in the tower struck seven, and the
strokes of the ancient bell sounded like a wedding chime.
The air sang with the thrilling treble of the song-birds, with
the silvery music of the plashing water and the softer har-
mony of the leaves stirred by the fresh morning wind.
There was a smell of new-mown hay from the distant
meadows, and of blooming roses from the beds below,
wafted up together to my window. I stood in the pure sun-
shine and drank the air and all the sounds and the odors
that were in it ; and I looked down at my garden and said :
" It is Paradise, after all." I think the men of old were
right when they called heaven a garden, and Eden a garden
inhabited by one man and one woman, the Earthly Paradise.

I turned away, wondering what had become of the gloomy
memories I had always associated with my home. I tried
to recall the impression of my nurse's horrible prophecy be-
fore the death of my parents — an impression which hitherto
had been vivid enough. I tried to remember my old self,

40

F. Marion Crawford

my dejection, my Hstlessness, my bad luck, my petty disap-
pointments. I endeavored to force myself to think as I used
to think, if only to satisfy myself that I had not lost my
individuality. But I succeeded in none of these efforts. I
was a different man, a changed being, incapable of sorrow,
of ill luck, or of sadness. My life had been a dream, not
evil, but infinitely gloomy and hopeless. It was now a
reality, full of hope, gladness, and all manner of good. My
home had been like a tomb ; to-day it was Paradise. My
heart had been as though it had not existed ; to-day it beat
with strength and youth and the certainty of realized hap-
piness. I reveled in the beauty of the world, and called
loveliness out of the future to enjoy it before time should
bring it to me, as a traveler in the plains looks up to the
mountains, and already tastes the cool air through the dust
of the road.

Here, I thought, we will live and live for years. There
we will sit by the fountain toward evening and in the deep
moonlight. Down those paths we will wander together. On
those benches we will rest and talk. Among those eastern
hills we will ride through the soft twilight, and in the old
house we will tell tales on winter nights, when the logs burn
high, and the holly berries are red, and the old clock tolls
out the dying year. On these old steps, in these dark pas-
sages and stately rooms, there will one day be the sound of
little pattering feet, and laughing child voices will ring up
to the vaults of the ancient hall. Those tiny footsteps shall
not be slow and sad as mine were, nor shall the childish
words be spoken in an awed whisper. No gloomy Welsh-
woman shall people the dusky corners with weird horrors,
nor utter horrid prophecies of death and ghastly things. All
shall be young, and fresh, and joyful, and happy, and we
will turn the old luck again, and forget that there was ever
any sadness.

So I thought, as I looked out of my window that morn-
ing and for many mornings after that, and every day it all
seemed more real than ever before, and much nearer. But
the old nurse looked at me askance, and muttered odd say-

41

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ings about the Woman of the Water. I cared little what
she said, for I was far too happy.

At last the time came near for the wedding. Lady Blue-
bell and all the tribe of Bluebells, as Margaret called them,
were at Bluebell Grange, for we had determined to be mar-
ried in the country, and to come straight to the Castle after-
wards. We cared little for traveling, and not at all for a
crowded ceremony at St. George's in Hanover Square, with
all the tiresome formalities afterwards. I used to ride over
to the Grange every day, and very often Margaret would
come with her aunt and some of her cousins to the Castle.
I was suspicious of my own taste, and was only too glad
to let her have her way about the alterations and improve-
ments in our home.

We were to be married on the thirtieth of July, and on
the evening of the twenty-eighth Margaret drove over with
some of the Bluebell party. In the long summer twiHght
we all went out into the garden. Naturally enough, Mar-
garet and I were left to ourselves, and we wandered down
by the marble basins.

" It is an odd coincidence," I said ; " it was on this very
night last year that I first saw you."

" Considering that it is the month of July," answered Mar-
garet with a laugh, " and that we have been here almost
every dav, I don't think the coincidence is so extraordinary,
after all."

" No, dear," said I, " I suppose not. I don't know why
it struck me. We shall very likely be here a year from to-
day, and a year from that. The odd thing, when I think of
it, is that you should be here at all. But my luck has turned.
I ought not to think anything odd that happens now that I
have you. It is all sure to be good."

" A slight change in your ideas since that remarkable per-
formance of yours in Paris," said Margaret. " Do you
know, I thought you were the most extraordinary man I
had ever met."

" I thought you were the most charming woman I had
ever seen. I naturally did not want to lose any time in

42

F. Marion Crazvford

frivolities. I took you at your word, I followed your ad-
vice, I asked you to marry me, and this is the delightful
result — what's the matter ? "

Margaret had started suddenly, and her hand tightened
on my arm. An old woman was coming up the path, and
was close to us before we saw her, for the moon had risen,
and was shining full in our faces. The woman turned out
to be my old nurse.

" It's only Judith, dear — don't be frightened," I said.
Then I spoke to the Welshwoman : " What are you about,
Judith ? Have you been feeding the Woman of the Water ? "

" Aye — when the clock strikes, Willie — my Lord, I mean,"
muttered the old creature, drawing aside to let us pass, and
fixing her strange eyes on Margaret's face.

" What does she mean ? " asked Margaret, when we had
gone by.

" Nothing, darling. The old thing is mildly crazy, but
she is a good soul."

We went on in silence for a few moments, and came to
the rustic bridge just above the artificial grotto through
which the water ran out into the park, dark and swift in its
narrow channel. We stopped, and leaned on the wooden
rail. The moon was now behind us, and shone full upon
the long vista of basins and on the huge walls and towers
of the Castle above.

" How proud you ought to be of such a grand old place ! "
said Margaret, softly.

" It is yours now, darling," I answered. " You have as
good a right to love it as I — but I only love it because you
are to live in it, dear."

Her hand stole out and lay on mine, and we were both
silent. Just then the clock began to strike far off in the
tower. I counted — eight — nine — ten — eleven — I looked at
my watch — twelve — thirteen — I laughed. The bell went on
striking.

** The old clock has gone crazy, like Judith," I exclaimed.
Still it went on, note after note ringing out monotonously
through the still air. We leaned over the rail, instinctively

43

American Mystery Stories

looking in the direction whence the sound came. On and on
it went. I counted nearly a hundred, out of sheer curiosity,
for I understood that something had broken and that the
thing was running itself down.

Suddenly there was a crack as of breaking wood, a cry
and a heavy splash, and I was alone, clinging to the broken
end of the rail of the rustic bridge,

I do not think I hesitated while my pulse beat twice. I
sprang clear of the bridge into the black rushing water,
dived to the bottom, came up again with empty hands,
turned and swam downward through the grotto in the thick
darkness, plunging and diving at every stroke, striking my
head and hands against jagged stones and sharp corners,
clutching at last something in my fingers and dragging it
up with all my might. I spoke, I cried aloud, but there was
no answer. I was alone in the pitchy darkness with my
burden, and the house was five hundred yards away. Strug-
gling still, I felt the ground beneath my feet, I saw a ray of
moonlight — the grotto widened, and the deep water became
a broad and shallow brook as I stumbled over the stones
and at last laid Margaret's body on the bank in the park
beyond.

" Aye, Willie, as the clock struck ! " said the voice of
Judith, the Welsh nurse, as she bent down and looked at the
white face. The old woman must have turned back and
followed us, seen the accident, and slipped out by the lower
gate of the garden. " Aye," she groaned, " you have fed
the Woman of the Water this night, Willie, while the clock
was striking,"

I scarcely heard her as I knelt beside the lifeless body of
the woman I loved, chafing the wet white temples and gazing
wildly into the wide-staring eyes. I remember only the first
returning look of consciousness, the first heaving breath,
the first movement of those dear hands stretching out toward
me.

That is not much of a story, you say. It is the story of
my life. That is all. It does not pretend to be anything

44

F. Marion Crawford

else. Old Judith says my luck turned on that summer's
night when I was struggling in the water to save all that
was worth living for. A month later there was a stone
bridge above the grotto, and Margaret and I stood on it and
looked up at the moonlit Castle, as we had done once before,
and as we have done many times since. For all those things
happened ten years ago last summer, and this is the tenth
Christmas Eve we have spent together by the roaring logs
in the old hall, talking of old times; and every year there
are more old times to talk of. There are curly-headed boys,
too, with red-gold hair and dark-brown eyes like their
mother's, and a little Margaret, with solemn black eyes like
mine. Why could not she look like her mother, too, as well
as the rest of them?

The world is very bright at this glorious Christmas time,
and perhaps there is little us^ in calling up the sadness of
long ago, unless it be to make the jolly firelight seem more
cheerful, the good wife's face look gladder, and to give the
children's laughter a merrier ring, by contrast with all that
is gone. Perhaps, too, some sad-faced, listless, melancholy
youth, who feels that the world is very hollow, and that
life is like a perpetual funeral service, just as I used to feel
myself, may take courage from my example, and having
found the woman of his heart, ask her to marry him after
half an hour's acquaintance. But, on the whole, I would
not advise any man to marry, for the simple reason that no
man will ever find a wife like mine, and being obliged to
go farther, he will necessarily fare worse. My wife has
done miracles, but I will not assert that any other woman
is able to follow her example.

Margaret always said that the old place was beautiful,
and that I ought to be proud of it. I dare say she is right.
She has even more imagination than I. But I have a good
answer and a plain one, which is this, — that all the beauty
of the Castle comes from her. She has breathed upon it all,
as the children blow upon the cold glass window panes in
winter ; and as their warm breath crystallizes into landscapes
from fairyland, full of exquisite shapes and traceries upon

45

American Mystery Stories

the blank surface, so her spirit has transformed every gray
stone of the old towers, every ancient tree and hedge in
the gardens, every thought in my once melancholy self. All
that was old is young, and all that was sad is glad, and I
am the gladdest of all. Whatever heaven may be, there is
no earthly paradise without woman, nor is there anywhere
a place so desolate, so dreary, so unutterably m.iserable that
a woman cannot make it seem heaven to the man she loves
and who loves her.

I hear certain cynics laugh, and cry that all that has been
said before. Do not laugh, my good cynic. You are too
small a man to laugh at such a great thing as love. Prayers
have been said before now by many, and perhaps you say
yours, too. I do not think they lose anything by being re-
peated, nor you by repeating them. You say that the world
is bitter, and full of the Waters of Bitterness. Love, and so
live that you may be loved — the world will turn sweet for
you, and you shall rest like me by the Waters of Paradise.

From " The Play-Actress and the Upper Berth/' by F.
•* Marion Crawford. Copyright, i8p6, by G. P. Putnam's
Sons.

46

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

The Shadows on the Wall

** T-T ENRY had words with Edward in the study the night
before Edward died," said Caroline Glynn.

She was elderly, tall, and harshly thin, with a hard color-
lessness of face. She spoke not with acrimony, but with
grave severity. Rebecca Ann Glynn, younger, stouter and
rosy of face between her crinkling puffs of gray hair,
gasped, by way of assent. She sat in a wide flounce of black
silk in the corner of the sofa, and rolled terrified eyes from
her sister Caroline to her sister Mrs. Stephen Brigham, who
had been Emma Glynn, the one beauty of the family. She
was beautiful still, with a large, splendid, full-blown beauty ;
she filled a great rocking chair with her superb bulk of
femininity, and swayed gently back and forth, her black
silks whispering and her black frills fluttering. Even the
shock of death (for her brother Edward lay dead in the
house) could not disturb her outward serenity of demeanor.
She was grieved over the loss of her brother : he had been
the youngest, and she had been fond of him, but never had
Emma Brigham lost sight of her own importance amidst the
waters of tribulation. She was always awake to the con-
sciousness of her own stability in the midst of vicissitudes
and the splendor of her permanent bearing.

But even her expression of masterly placidity changed be-
fore her sister Caroline's announcement and her sister Re-
becca Ann's gasp of terror and distress in response.

" I think Henry might have controlled his temper, when
poor Edward was so near his end," said she with an asperity
which disturbed slightly the roseate curves of her beautiful
mouth.

" Of course he did not know" murmured Rebecca Ann

47

American Mystery Stories

in a faint tone strangely out of keeping with her appear-
ance.

One invokintarily looked again to be sure that such a
feeble pipe came from that full-swelling chest.

" Of course he did not know it," said Caroline quickly.
She turned on her sister with a strange sharp look of sus-
picion. *' How could he have known it ? " said she. Then
she shrank as if from the other's possible answer. " Of
course you and I both know he could not," said she con-
clusively, but her pale face was paler than it had been
before.

Rebecca gasped again. The married sister, Mrs. Emma
Brigham, was now sitting up straight in her chair ; she had
ceased rocking, and was eyeing them both intently with a
sudden accentuation of family likeness in her face. Given
one common intensity of emotion and similar lines showed
forth, and the three sisters of one race were evident.

" What do you mean ? " said she impartially to them both.
Then she, too, seemed to shrink before a possible answer.
She even laughed an evasive sort of laugh. " I guess you
don't mean anything," said she, but her face wore still the
expression of shrinking horror.

" Nobody means anything," said Caroline firmly. She
rose and crossed the room toward the door with grim de-
cisiveness.

" Where are you going? " asked Mrs. Brigham.

" I have something to see to," replied Caroline, and the
others at once knew by her tone that she had some solemn
and sad duty to perform in the chamber of death.

" Oh," said Mrs. Brigham.

After the door had closed behind Caroline, she turned to
Rebecca.

" Did Henry have many words with him ? " she asked.

" They were talking very loud," replied Rebecca evasivelv,
yet with an answering gleam of ready response to the other's
curiosity in the quick lift of her soft blue eyes.

Mrs. Brigham looked at her. She had not resumed rock-
ing. She still sat up straight with a slight knitting of in-

48

Mary E. Wilkin s Freeman

tensity on her fair forehead, between the pretty rippUng
curves of her auburn hair.

"Did you — hear anything?" she asked in a low voice
with a glance toward the door.

" I was just across the hall in the south parlor, and that
door was open and this door ajar," replied Rebecca with a
slight flush.

" Then you must have '*

" I couldn't help it."

"Everything?"

" Most of it."

"What was it?"

" The old story."

" I suppose Henry was mad, as he always was, because
Edward was living on here for nothing, when he had wasted
all the money father left him."

Rebecca nodded with a fearful glance at the door.

When Emma spoke again her voice was still more hushed.
" I know how he felt," said she. " He had always been so
prudent himself, and worked hard at his profession, and
there Edward had never done anything but spend, and it
must have looked to him as if Edward was living at his
expense, but he wasn't."

" No, he wasn't."

" It was the way father left the property — that all the
children should have a home here — and he left money
enough to buy the food and all if we had all come home."

" Yes."

" And Edward had a right here according to the terms
of father's will, and Henry ought to have remembered it."

" Yes, he ought."

" Did he say hard things ? "

" Pretty hard from what I heard."

"What?"

" I heard him tell Edward that he had no business here at
all, and he thought he had better go away."
" What did Edward say ? "

" That he would stay here as long as he lived and after-

49

American Mystery Stories

wards, too, if he was a mind to, and he would hke to see
Henrv get him out ; and then "

" What ? "

" Then he laughed."

"What did Henry say?"

" I didn't hear him say anything, but "

"But what?"

" I saw him when he came out of this room."

"He looked mad?"

" You've seen him when he looked so."

Emma nodded ; the expression of horror on her face had
deepened.

" Do you remember that time he killed the cat because
she had scratched him?"

"Yes. Don't!"

Then Caroline reentered the room. She went up to the
stove in which a wood fire was burning — it was a cold,
gloomy day of fall — and she warmed her hands, which were
reddened from recent washing in cold water.

Mrs. Brigham looked at her and hesitated. She glanced
at the door, which was still ajar, as it did not easily shut,
being still swollen with the damp weather of the summer.
She rose and pushed it together with a sharp thud which
jarred the house. Rebecca started painfully with a half
exclamation. Caroline looked at her disapprovingly.

" It is time you controlled your nerves, Rebecca," said she.

" I can't help it," replied Rebecca with almost a wail. " I
am nervous. There's enough to make me so, the Lord
knows."

" What do you mean by that ? " asked Caroline with her
old air of sharp suspicion, and something between challenge
and dread of its being met.

Rebecca shrank.

" Nothing," said she.

" Then I wouldn't keep speaking in such a fashion."

Emma, returning from the closed door, said imperiously
that it ought to be fixed, it shut so hard.

" It will shrink enough after we have had the fire a few

50

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

days," replied Caroline. " If anything is done to it it will be
too small; there will be a crack at the sill."

" I think Henry ought to be ashamed of himself for talk-
ing as he did to Edward," said Mrs. Brigham abruptly, but
in an almost inaudible voice.

" Hush! " said Caroline, with a glance of actual fear at
the closed door.

" Nobody can hear with the door shut."

" He must have heard it shut, and "

" Well, I can say what I want to before he comes down,
and I am not afraid of him."

"I don't know who is afraid of him! What reason is
there for anybody to be afraid of Henry? " demanded Caro-
line.

Mrs. Brigham trembled before her sister's look. Rebecca
gasped again. " There isn't any reason, of course. Why
should there be?"

" I wouldn't speak so, then. Somebody might overhear
you and think it was queer. Miranda Joy is in the south
parlor sewing, you know."

" I thought she went upstairs to stitch on the machine."

" She did, but she has come down again."

" Well, she can't hear.

" I say again I think Henry ought to be ashamed of him-
self. I shouldn't think he'd ever get over it, having words
with poor Edward the very night before he died. Edward
was enough sight better disposition than Henry, with all his
faults. I always thought a great deal of poor Edward,
myself."

Mrs. Brigham passed a large fluff of handkerchief across
her eyes; Rebecca sobbed outright.

" Rebecca," said Caroline admonishingly, keeping her
mouth stiff and swallowing determinately.

" I never heard him speak a cross word, unless he spoke
cross to Henry that last night. I don't know, but he did
from what Rebecca overheard," said Emma.

" Not so much cross as sort of soft, and sweet, and aggra-
vating," snififled Rebecca.

51

American Mystery Stories

" He never raised his voice," said Caroline; " but he had
his way."

" He had a right to in this case."

" Yes, he did."

" He had as much of a right here as Henry," sobbed
Rebecca, " and now he's gone, and he will never be in
this home that poor father left him and the rest of us
again."

" What do you really think ailed Edward ? " asked Emma
in hardly more than a whisper. She did not look at her
sister.

Caroline sat down in a nearby armchair, and clutched the
arms convulsively until her thin knuckles whitened.

" I told you," said she.

Rebecca held her handkerchief over her mouth, and
looked at them above it with terrified, streaming eyes.

" I know you said that he had terrible pains in his stom-
ach, and had spasms, but what do you think made him have
them ? "

" Henry called it gastric trouble. You know Edward has
always had dyspepsia."

Mrs. Brigham hesitated a moment. " Was there any talk
of an — examination? " said she.

Then Caroline turned on her fiercely.

" No," said she in a terrible voice. " No."

The three sisters' souls seemed to meet on one common
ground of terrified understanding through their eyes. The
old-fashioned latch of the door was heard to rattle, and a
push from without made the door shake ineffectually. " It's
Henry," Rebecca sighed rather than whispered. Mrs. Brig-
ham settled herself after a noiseless rush across the floor
into her rocking-chair again, and was swaying back and forth
with her head comfortably leaning back, when the door at
last yielded and Henry Glynn entered. He cast a covertly
sharp, comprehensive glance at Mrs. Brigham with her
elaborate calm; at Rebecca quietly huddled in the corner of
the sofa with her handkerchief to her face and only one
small reddened ear as attentive as a dog's uncovered and

52

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

revealing her alertness for his presence; at Caroline sitting
with a strained composure in her armchair by the stove.
She met his eyes quite firmly with a look of inscrutable fear,
and defiance of the fear and of him.

Henry Glynn looked more like this sister than the others.
Both had the same hard delicacy of form and feature, both
were tall and almost emaciated, both had a sparse growth
of gray blond hair far back from high intellectual foreheads,
both had an almost noble aquilinity of feature. They con-
fronted each other with the pitiless immovability of two
statues in whose marble hneaments emotions were fixed for
all eternity.

Then Henry Glynn smiled and the smile transformed his
face. He looked suddenly years younger, and an almost
boyish recklessness and irresolution appeared in his face.
He flung himself into a chair with a gesture which was be-
wildering from its incongruity with his general appearance.
He leaned his head back, flung one leg over the other, and
looked laughingly at Mrs. Brigham.

" I declare, Emma, you grow younger every year," he
said.

She flushed a little, and her placid mouth widened at the
corners. She was susceptible to praise.

" Our thoughts to-day ought to belong to the one of us
who will never grow older," said Caroline in a hard voice.

Henry looked at her, still smiling. " Of course, we none
of us forget that," said he, in a deep, gentle voice, " but
we have to speak to the living, Caroline, and I have not
seen Emma for a long time, and the living are as dear as the
dead."

" Not to me," said Caroline.

She rose, and went abruptly out of the room again. Re-
becca also rose and hurried after her, sobbing loudly.

Henry looked slowly after them.

" Caroline is completely unstrung," said he.

Mrs. Brigham rocked. A confidence in him inspired by
his manner was stealing over her. Out of that confidence
she spoke quite easily and naturally.

53

American Mystery Stories

" His death was very sudden," said she.

Henry's eyeHds quivered sHghtly but his gaze was un-
swerving.

" Yes," said he ; " it was very sudden. He was sick only
a few hours."

" What did you call it? "

" Gastric."

" You did not think of an examination? "

" There was no need. I am perfectly certain as to the
cause of his death."

Suddenly Mrs. Brigham felt a creep as of some live hor-
ror over her very soul. Her flesh prickled with cold, before
an inflection of his voice. She rose, tottering on weak
knees.

" Where are you going? " asked Henry in a strange,
breathless voice.

Mrs. Brigham said something incoherent about some
sewing which she had to do, some black for the funeral,
and was out of the room. She went up to the front cham-
ber which she occupied. Caroline was there. She went
close to her and took her hands, and the two sisters looked
at each other.

"Don't speak, don't, I won't have it!" said CaroHne
finally in an awful whisper.

" I won't," replied Emma.

That afternoon the three sisters were in the study, the
large front room on the ground floor across the hall from
the south parlor, when the dusk deepened.

Mrs. Brigham was hemming some black material. She
sat close to the west window for the waning light. At last
she laid her work on her lap.

" It's no use, I cannot see to sew another stitch until we
have a light," said she.

Caroline, who was writing some letters at the table,
turned to Rebecca, in her usual place on the sofa.

" Rebecca, you had better get a lamp," she said.

Rebecca started up; even in the dusk her face showed her

agitation.

54

Mary E. WUkiiis Freeman

" It doesn't seem to me that we need a lamp quite yet,"
she said in a piteous, pleading voice like a child's.

" Yes, we do," returned Mrs. Brigham peremptorily.
" We must have a light. I must finish this to-night or I
can't go to the funeral, and I can't see to sew another
stitch."

" Caroline can see to write letters, and she is farther from
the window than you are," said Rebecca.

" Are you trying to save kerosene or are you lazy, Re-
becca Glynn?" cried Mrs. Brigham. "I can go and get
the light myself, but I have this work all in my lap."

Caroline's pen stopped scratching.

" Rebecca, we must have the light," said she.

" Had we better have it in here ? " asked Rebecca
weakly.

" Of course ! Why not ? " cried Caroline sternly.

" I am sure I don't want to take my sewing into the other
room, when it is all cleaned up for to-morrow," said Mrs.
Brigham.

" Whv, I never heard such a to-do about lighting a
lamp." '

Rebecca rose and left the room. Presently she entered
with a lamp — a large one with a white porcelain shade.
She set it on a table, an old-fashioned card-table which was
placed against the opposite wall from the window. That
wall was clear of bookcases and books, which were only on
three sides of the room. That opposite wall was taken up
with three doors, the one small space being occupied by the
table. Above the table on the old-fashioned paper, of a
white satin gloss, traversed by an indeterminate green
scroll, hung quite high a small gilt and black-framed ivory
miniature taken in her girlhood of the mother of the family.
When the lamp was set on the table beneath it, the tiny
pretty face painted on the ivory seemed to gleam out with
a look of intelligence.

" What have you put that lamp over there for? " asked
Mrs. Brigham, with more of impatience than her voice usu-
ally revealed. " W^hy didn't you set it in the hall and have

55

American Mystery Stories

done with it ? Neither Caroline nor I can see if it is on that
table."

" I thought perhaps you would move," replied Rebecca
hoarsely.

" If I do move, we can't both sit at that table. Carohne
has her paper all spread around. Why don't you set the
lamp on the study table in the middle of the room, then we
can both see? "

Rebecca hesitated. Her face was very pale. She looked
with an appeal that was fairly agonizing at her sister Caro-
line.

" Why don't you put the lamp on this table, as she
says?" asked Caroline, almost fiercely. "Why do you act
so, Rebecca? "

" I should think you would ask her that," said Mrs. Brig-
ham. " She doesn't act like herself at all."

Rebecca took the lamp and set it on the table in the
middle of the room without another word. Then she turned
her back upon it quickly and seated herself on the sofa, and
placed a hand over her eyes as if to shade them, and re-
mained so,

" Does the light hurt your eyes, and is that the reason
why you didn't want the lamp?" asked Mrs. Brigham
kindly.

" I always like to sit in the dark," replied Rebecca chok-
ingly. Then she snatched her handkerchief hastily from
her pocket and began to weep. Caroline continued to write,
Mrs. Brigham to sew.

Suddenly Mrs. Brigham as she sewed glanced at the oppo-
site wall. The glance became a steady stare. She looked
intently, her work suspended in her hands. Then she
looked away again and took a few more stitches, then she
looked again, and again turned to her task. At last she laid
her work in her lap and stared concentratedly. She looked
from the wall around the roof, taking note of the various
objects; she looked at the wall long and intently. Then she
turned to her sisters.

" What is that?" said she.

56

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

"What?" asked Caroline harshly; her pen scratched
loudly across the paper.

Rebecca gave one of her convulsive gasps.

" That strange shadow on the wall," replied Mrs. Brig-
ham.

Rebecca sat with her face hidden: Caroline dipped her
pen in the inkstand.

" Why don't you turn around and look ? " asked Mrs.
Brigham in a wondering and somewhat aggrieved way.

" I am in a hurry to finish this letter, if Mrs. Wilson Ebbit
is going to get word in time to come to the funeral," replied
Caroline shortly.

Mrs. Brigham rose, her work slipping to the floor, and
she began walking around the room, moving various arti-
cles of furniture, with her eyes on the shadow.

Then suddenly she shrieked out:

"Look at this awful shadow! What is it! Caroline,
look, look! Rebecca, look! What is it? "

All Mrs. Brigham's triumphant placidity was gone. Her
handsome face was livid with horror. She stood stiffly
pointing at the shadow,

"Look!" said she, pointing her finger at it. "Look!
What is it?"

Then Rebecca burst out in a wild wail after a shuddering
glance at the wall:

" Oh, Caroline, there it is again! There it is again! "

"Caroline Glynn, you look!" said Mrs. Brigham.
" Look ! What is that dreadful shadow ? "

Caroline rose, turned, and stood confronting the wall.

" How should I know ? " she said.

" It has been there every night since he died," cried Re-
becca.

" Every night ? "

"Yes. He died Thursday and this is Saturday; that
makes three nights," said Caroline rigidly. She stood as if
holding herself calm with a vise of concentrated will.

" It — it looks like — like " stammered Mrs. Brigham

in a tone of intense horror.

57

American Mystery Stories

" I know what it looks like well enough," said Caroline.
^' I've got eyes in my head."

" It looks like Edward," burst out Rebecca in a sort of
frenzy of fear. " Only "

" Yes, it does," assented Mrs. Brigham, whose horror-
stricken tone matched her sister's, " only Oh, it is

awful! What is it, Carohne?"

" I ask you again, how should I know? " replied Caroline.
'" I see it there like you. How should I know any more
than you? "

" It must be something in the room," said Mrs. Brigham,
staring wildly around.

" We moved everything in the room the first night it
came," said Rebecca; " it is not anything in the room."

Caroline turned upon her with a sort of fury. " Of
course it is something in the room," said she. " How you
act! What do you mean by talking so? Of course it is
something in the room."

" Of course it is," agreed Mrs. Brigham, looking at Caro-
line suspiciously. " Of course it must be. It is only a
coincidence. It just happens so. Perhaps it is that fold
of the window curtain that makes it. It must be something
in the room."

" It is not anything in the room," repeated Rebecca with
obstinate horror.

The door opened suddenly and Henry Glynn entered.
He began to speak, then his eyes followed the direction of
the others'. He stood stock still staring at the shadow on
the wall. It was life size and stretched across the white
parallelogram of a door, half across the wall space on which
the picture hung.

" What is that? " he demanded in a strange voice.

" It must be due to something in the room," Mrs. Brig-
ham said faintly.

" It is not due to anything in the room," said Rebecca
again with the shrill insistency of terror.

" How you act, Rebecca Glynn," said Caroline.

Henry Glynn stood and stared a moment longer. His

58

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

face showed a gamut of emotions — horror, conviction, then
furious incredulity. Suddenly he began hastening hither
and thither about the room. He moved the furniture with
fierce jerks, turning ever to see the effect upon the shadow
on the wall. Not a line of its terrible outlines wavered.

" It must be something in the room! " he declared in a
voice which seemed to snap like a lash.

His face changed. The inmost secrecy of his nature
seemed evident until one almost lost sight of his lineaments.
Rebecca stood close to her sofa, regarding him with woeful,
fascinated eyes. Mrs. Brigham clutched Caroline's hand.
They both stood in a corner out of his way. For a few
moments he raged about the room like a caged wild animal.
He moved every piece of furniture; when the moving of a
piece did not affect the shadow, he flung it to the floor, his
sisters watching.

Then suddenly he desisted. He laughed and began
straightening the furniture which he had flung down.

" What an absurdity," he said easily. " Such a to-do
about a shadow."

" That's so," assented Mrs. Brigham, in a scared voice
which she tried to make natural. As she spoke she lifted a
chair near her.

" I think you have broken the chair that Edward was so
fond of," said Caroline.

Terror and wrath were struggling for expression on her
face. Her mouth was set, her eyes shrinking. Henry lifted
the chair with a show of anxiety.

" Just as good as ever," he said pleasantly. He laughed
again, looking at his sisters. " Did I scare you? " he said.
" I should think you might be used to me by this time.
You know my way of wanting to leap to the bottom of a
mystery, and that shadow does look — queer, like — and I
thought if there was any way of accounting for it I would
like to without any delay."

" You don't seem to have succeeded," remarked Caroline
dryly, with a slight glance at the wall.

Henry's eyes followed hers and he quivered perceptibly.

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American Mystery Stories

" Oh, there is no accounting for shadows," he said, and
he laughed again. " A man is a fool to try to account for
shadows."

Then the supper bell rang, and they all left the room, but
Henry kept his back to the wall, as did, indeed, the others.

Mrs. Brigham pressed close to Caroline as she crossed
the hall. " He looked like a demon! " she breathed in her
ear.

Henry led the way with an alert motion like a boy; Re-
becca brought up the rear; she could scarcely walk, her
knees trembled so.

" I can't sit in that room again this evening," she whis-
pered to Caroline after supper,

" Very well, we will sit in the south room," replied Caro-
line. " I think we will sit in the south parlor," she said
aloud ; " it isn't as damp as the study, and I have a cold."

So they all sat in the south room with their sewing.
Henry read the newspaper, his chair drawn close to the
lamp on the table. About nine o'clock he rose abruptly and
crossed the hall to the study. The three sisters looked at
one another. Mrs. Brigham rose, folded her rustling skirts
compactly around her, and began tiptoeing toward the door.

"What are you going to do?" inquired Rebecca agi-
tatedly.

" I am going to see what he is about," replied Mrs. Brig-
ham cautiously.

She pointed as she spoke to the study door across the
hall; it was ajar. Henry had striven to pull it together
behind him, but it had somehow swollen beyond the limit
with curious speed. It was still ajar and a streak of light
showed from top to bottom. The hall lamp was not lit.

" You had better stay where you are," said Caroline with
guarded sharpness.

" I am going to see," repeated Mrs. Brigham firmly.

Then she folded her skirts so tightly that her bulk with
its swelling curves was revealed in a black silk sheath, and
she went with a slow toddle across the hall to the study
door. She stood there, her eye at the crack.

60

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

In the south room Rebecca stopped sewing and sat
watching with dilated eyes. Caroline sewed steadily. What
Mrs, Brigham, standing at the crack in the study door, saw
was this:

Henry Glynn, evidently reasoning that the source of the
strange shadow must be between the table on which the
lamp stood and the wall, was making systematic passes and
thrusts all over and through the intervening space with an
old sword which had belonged to his father. Not an inch
was left unpierced. He seemed to have divided the space
into mathematical sections. He brandished the sword with
a sort of cold fury and calculation ; the blade gave out flashes
of light, the shadow remained unmoved. Mrs. Brigham,
watching, felt herself cold with horror.

Finally Henry ceased and stood with the sword in hand
and raised as if to strike, surveying the shadow on the wall
threateningly. Mrs. Brigham toddled back across the hall
and shut the south room door behind her before she related
what she had seen.

" He looked like a demon! " she said again, " Have you
got any of that old wine in the house, Caroline? I don't
feel as if I could stand much more."

Indeed, she looked overcome. Her handsome placid face
was worn and strained and pale.

" Yes, there's plenty," said Caroline; " you can have some
when you go to bed."

" I think we had all better take some," said Mrs. Brig-
ham. " Oh, my God, Caroline, what "

" Don't ask and don't speak," said Caroline.

"No, I am not going to," rephed Mrs. Brigham;
" but "

Rebecca moaned aloud.

" What are you doing that for? " asked Caroline harshly.

" Poor Edward ! " returned Rebecca.

" That is all you have to groan for," said Caroline.
" There is nothing else."

" I am going to bed," said Mrs. Brigham. " I sha'n't be
able to be at the funeral if I don't."

6i

American Mystery Stories

Soon the three sisters went to their chambers and the
south parlor was deserted. CaroUne called to Henry in the
study to put out the light before he came upstairs. They
had been gone about an hour when he came into the room
bringing the lamp which had stood in the study. He set
it on the table and waited a few minutes, pacing up and
down. His face was terrible, his fair complexion showed
livid ; his blue eyes seemed dark blanks of awful re-
flections.

Then he took the lamp up and returned to the library.
He set the lamp on the center table, and the shadow sprang
out on the wall. Again he studied the furniture and moved
it about, but deliberately, with none of his former frenzy.
Nothing affected the shadow. Then he returned to the
south room with the lamp and again waited. Again he
returned to the study and placed the lamp on the table,
and the shadow sprang out upon the wall. It was midnight
before he went upstairs. Mrs. Brigham and the other sis-
ters, who could not sleep, heard him.

The next day w'as the funeral. That evening the family
sat in the south room. Some relatives were with them.
Nobody entered the study until Henry carried a lamp in
there after the others had retired for the night. He saw
again the shadow on the wall leap to an awful life before
the light.

The next morning at breakfast Henry Glynn announced
that he had to go to the city for three days. The sisters
looked at him with surprise. He very seldom left home, and
just now his practice had been neglected on account of Ed-
ward's death. He was a physician.

"How can you leave your patients now?" asked Mrs.
Brigham wonderingly.

" I don't know how to, but there is no other way," replied
Henry easily. " I have had a telegram from Doctor Mit-
ford."

"Consultation?" inquired Mrs. Brigham.

" I have business," replied Henry.

Doctor Mitford was an old classmate of his who lived in

62

Mary E. IVilkins Freeman

a neighboring city and who occasionally called upon him
in the case of a consultation.

After he had gone Mrs. Brigham said to Caroline that
after all Henry had not said that he was going to consult
with Doctor Mitford, and she thought it very strange.

" Everything is very strange," said Rebecca with a shud-
der.

"What do you mean?" inquired Caroline sharply.

" Nothing," replied Rebecca.

Nobody entered the library that day, nor the next, nor the
next. The third day Henry was expected home, but he did
not arrive and the last train from the city had come.

" I call it pretty queer work," said Mrs. Brigham. " The
idea of a doctor leaving his patients for three days anyhow,
at such a time as this, and I know he has some very sick
ones; he said so. And the idea of a consultation lasting
three days! There is no sense in it, and now he has not
come. I don't understand it, for my part."

" I don't either," said Rebecca.

They were all in the south parlor. There was no light
in the study opposite, and the door was ajar.

Presently Mrs. Brigham rose — she could not have told
why; something seemed to impel her, some will outside her
own. She went out of the room, again wrapping her rus-
tling skirts around that she might pass noiselessly, and
began pushing at the swollen door of the study.

" She has not got any lamp," said Rebecca in a shaking
voice. •

Caroline, who was writing letters, rose again, took a lamp
(there were two in the room) and followed her sister. Re-
becca had risen^ but she stood trembling, not venturing to
follow.

The doorbell rang, but the others did not hear it ; it was
on the south door on the other side of the house from
the study. Rebecca, after hesitating until the bell rang
the second time, went to the door ; she remembered that the
servant was out.

Caroline and her sister Emma entered the study. Caro-

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American Mystery Stories

line set the lamp on the table. They looked at the wall.
" Oh, my God," gasped Mrs. Brigham, " there are — there
are two — shadows." The sisters stood clutching each other,
staring at the awful things on the wall. Then Rebecca
came in, staggering, with a telegram in her hand. " Here
is — a telegram," she gasped. " Henry is — dead."

Frotn " The Wind in the Rosebush," by Mary E. Wilkins
Freeman. Copyright, ipo^, by Doubleday, Page &
Company.

64

Melville Davisson Post

Introduction to The Corpus Delicti

The high ground of the field of crime has not been explored;
it has not even been entered. The book stalls have been filled to
weariness with tales based upon plans whereby the detective, or
ferreting power of the State might be baffled. But, prodigious
marvel ! no writer has attempted to construct tales based upon plans
whereby the punishing power of the State might be baffled.

The distinction, if one pauses for a moment to consider it, is
striking. It is possible, even easy, deliberately to plan crimes so
that the criminal agent and the criminal agency cannot be detected.
Is it possible to plan and execute wrongs in such a manner that they
will have all the effect and all the resulting profit of desperate
crimes and yet not be crimes before the law?

We are prone to forget that the law is no perfect structure, that
it is simply the result of human labor and human genius, and that
whatever laws human ingenuity can create for the protection of
men, those same laws human ingenuity can evade. The Spirit of
Evil is no dwarf ; he has developed equally with the Spirit of Good.

All wrongs are not crimes. Indeed only those wrongs are
crimes in which certain technical elements are present. The law
provides a Procrustean standard for all crimes. Thus a wrong, to
become criminal, must fit exactly into the measure laid down by
the law, else it is no crime ; if it varies never so little from the legal
measure, the law must, and will, refuse to regard it as criminal,
no matter how injurious a wrong it may be. There is no measure
of morality, or equity, or common right that can be applied to the
individual case. The gauge of the law is iron-bound. The wrong
measured by this gauge is either a crime or it is not. There is no
middle ground.

Hence is it, that if one knows well the technicalities of the law,
one may commit horrible wrongs that will yield all the gain and all
the resulting effect of the highest crimes, and yet the wrongs
perpetrated will constitute no one of the crimes described by the
law. Thus the highest crimes, even murder, may be committed

65

American Mystery Stories

in such manner that although the criminal is known and the law
holds him in custody, yet it cannot punish him. So it happens
that in this year of our Lord of the nineteenth century, the skillful
attorney marvels at the stupidity of the rogue who, committing
crimes by the ordinary methods, subjects himself to unnecessary
peril, when the result which he seeks can easily be attained by other
methods, equally expeditious and without danger of liability in
any criminal tribunal. This is the field into which the author has
ventured, and he believes it to be new and full of interest.

It may be objected that the writer has prepared here a text-book
for the shrewd knave. To this it is answered that, if he instructs
the enemies, he also warns the friends of law and order; and that
Evil has never yet been stronger because the sun shone on it.

[See Lord Hale's Rule, Russell on Crimes. For the law in
New York see i8th N. Y. Reports, 179; also N. Y. Reports, 49,
page 137. The doctrine there laid down obtains in almost every
State, with the possible exception of a few Western States, where
the decisions are muddy.]

T^e Corpus Delicti
I

"HTHAT man Mason," said Samuel Walcott, " is the mys-
terious member of this club. He is more than that ;
he is the mysterious man of New York."

" I was much surprised to see him," answered his com-
panion, Marshall St. Clair, of the great law firm of Seward,
St. Clair & De Muth. " I had lost track of him since he
went to Paris as counsel for the American stockholders of
the Canal Company. When did he come back to the
States ? "

" He turned up suddenly in his ancient haunts about four
months ago," said Walcott, " as grand, gloomy, and peculiar
as Napoleon ever was in his palmiest days. The younger
members of the club call him ' Zanona Redivivus.' He wan-
ders through the house usually late at night, apparently

66

Melville Davisson Post

without noticing anything or anybody. His mind seems to
be deeply and busily at work, leaving his bodily self to wan-
der as it may happen. Naturally, strange stories are told
of him; indeed, his individuality and his habit of doing
some unexpected thing, and doing it in such a marvelously
original manner that men who are experts at it look on in
wonder, cannot fail to make him an object of interest.

" He has never been known to play at any game what-
ever, and yet one night he sat down to the chess table with
old Admiral Du Brey. You know the Admiral is the great
champion since he beat the French and English officers in
the tournament last winter. Well, you also know that the
conventional openings at chess are scientifically and accu-
rately determined. To the utter disgust of Du Brey, Mason
opened the game with an unheard-of attack from the ex-
tremes of the board. The old Admiral stopped and, in a
kindly patronizing way, pointed out the weak and absurd
folly of his move and asked him to begin again with some
one of the safe openings. Mason smiled and answered that
if one had a head that he could trust he should use it ; if
not, then it was the part of wisdom to follow blindly the
dead forms of some man who had a head. Du Brey was
naturally angry and set himself to demolish Mason as quickly
as possible. The game was rapid for a few moments. Mason
lost piece after piece. His opening was broken and destroyed
and its utter folly apparent to the lookers-on. The Admiral
smiled and the game seemed all one-sided, when, suddenly,
to his utter horror, Du Brey found that his king was in a
trap. The foolish opening had been only a piece of shrewd
strategy. The old Admiral fought and cursed and sacrificed
his pieces, but it was of no use. He was gone. Mason
checkmated him in two moves and arose wearily.

" ' Where in Heaven's name, man,' said the old Admiral,
thunderstruck, 'did you learn that masterpiece?'

" ' Just here,' replied Mason. ' To play chess, one should
know. his opponent. How could the dead masters lay down
rules by which you could be beaten, sir? They had never
seen you ' ; and thereupon he turned and left the room. Of

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American Mystery Stories

course, St. Clair, such a strange man would soon become
an object of all kinds of mysterious rumors. Some are true
and some are not. At any rate, I know that Mason is an
unusual man with a gigantic intellect. Of late he seems to
have taken a strange fancy to me. In fact, I seem to be
the only member of the club that he will talk with, and I
confess that he startles and fascinates me. He is an original
genius, St. Clair, of an unusual order."

" I recall vividly," said the younger man, " that before
Mason went to Paris he was considered one of the greatest
lawyers of this city and he was feared and hated by the
bar at large. He came here, I believe, from Virginia and
began with the high-grade criminal practice. He soon be-
came famous for his powerful and ingenious defenses. He
found holes in the law through which his clients escaped,
holes that by the profession at large were not suspected to
exist, and that frequently astonished the judges. His ability
caught the attention of the great corporations. They tested
him and found in him learning and unlimited resources. He
pointed out methods by which they could evade obnoxious
statutes, by which they could comply with the apparent let-
ter of the law and yet violate its spirit, and advised them
well in that most important of all things, just how far they
could bend the law without breaking it. At the time he
left for Paris he had a vast clientage and was in the midst
of a brilliant career. The day he took passage from New
York, the bar lost sight of him. No matter how great a
man may be, the wave soon closes over him in a city Hke
this. In a few years Mason was forgotten. Now only the
older practitioners would recall him, and they would do so
with hatred and bitterness. He was a tireless, savage, un-
compromising fighter, always a recluse."

" Well," said Walcott, " he reminds me of a great world-
weary cynic, transplanted from some ancient mysterious em-
pire. When I come into the man's presence I feel in-
stinctively the grip of his intellect. I tell you, St. Clair,
Randolph Mason is the mysterious man of New York."

At this moment a messenger boy came into the room and

68

Melville Davisson Post

handed Mr. Walcott a telegram. " St. Clair," said that
gentleman, rising, " the directors of the Elevated are in ses-
sion, and we must hurry." The two men put on their coats
and left the house.

Samuel Walcott was not a club man after the manner
of the Smart Set, and yet he was in fact a club man. He
was a bachelor in the latter thirties, and resided in a great
silent house on the avenue. On the street he was a man of
substance, shrewd and progressive, backed by great wealth.
He had various corporate interests in the larger syndicates,
but the basis and foundation of his fortune was real estate.
His houses on the avenue were the best possible property,
and his elevator row in the importers' quarter was indeed
a literal gold mine. It was known that, many years before,
his grandfather had died and left him the property, which,
at that time, was of no great value. Young Walcott had
gone out into the gold-fields and had been lost sight of and
forgotten. Ten years afterwards he had turned up suddenly
in New York and taken possession of his property, then
vastly increased in value. His speculations were almost
phenomenally successful, and, backed by the now enormous
value of his real property, he was soon on a level with the
merchant princes. His judgment was considered sound, and
he had the full confidence of his business associates for
safety and caution. Fortune heaped up riches around him
with a lavish hand. He was unmarried and the halo of his
wealth caught the keen eye of the matron with marriage-
able daughters. He was invited out, caught by the whirl of
society, and tossed into its maelstrom. In a measure he
reciprocated. He kept horses and a yacht. His dinners at
Delmonico's and the club were above reproach. But with
all he was a silent man with a shadow deep in his eyes, and
seemed to court the society of his fellows, not because he
loved them, but because he either hated or feared solitude.
For years the strategy of the match-maker had gone grace-
fully afield, but Fate is relentless. If she shields the victim
from the traps of men, it is not because she wishes him to
escape, but because she is pleased to reserve him for her

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own trap. So it happened that, when Virginia St. Clair
assisted Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant at her midwinter recep-
tion, this same Samuel Walcott fell deeply and hopelessly
and utterly in love, and it was so apparent to the beaten
generals present, that Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant applauded
herself, so to speak, with encore after encore. It was gop.d
to see this courteous, silent man literally at the feet of the
3-oung debutante. He was there of right. Even the mothers
of marriageable daughters adrnitted that. The young girl
w^as brown-haired, brown-eyed, and tall enough, said the
experts, and of the blue blood royal, with all the grace,
courtesy, and inbred genius of such princely heritage.

Perhaps it was objected by the censors of the Smart Set
that Miss St. Clair's frankness and honesty were a trifle
old-fashioned, and that she was a shadowy bit of a Puritan ;
and perhaps it was of these same qualities that Samuel Wal-
cott received his hurt. At any rate the hurt was there and
deep, and the new actor stepped up into the old time-worn,
semi-tragic drama, and began his role with a tireless, utter
sincerity that was deadly dangerous if he lost.

II

Perhaps a week after the conversation between St. Clair
and Walcott, Randolph Mason stood in the private waiting-
room of the club with his hands behind his back.

He was a man apparently in the middle forties ; tall and
reasonably broad across the shoulders ; muscular without be-
ing either stout or lean. His hair was thin and of a brown
color, with erratic streaks of gray. His forehead was broad
and high and of a faint reddish color. His eyes were rest-
less inky black, and not over-large. The nose was big and
muscular and bowed. The eyebrows were black and heavy,
almost bushy. There were heavy furrows, running from
the nose downward and outward to the corners of the mouth.
The mouth was straight and the jaw was heavy, and square.

Looking at the face of Randolph Mason from above, the

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expression in repose was crafty and cynical ; viewed from
below upward, it was savage and vindictive, almost brutal ;
while from the front, if looked squarely in the face, the
stranger was fascinated by the animation of the man and
at once concluded that his expression was fearless and sneer-
ing. He was evidently of Southern extraction and a man.
of unusual power.

A fire smoldered on the hearth. It was a crisp evening'
in the early fall, and with that far-off touch of melancholy
which ever heralds the coming winter, even in the midst of
a city. The man's face looked tired and ugly. His long
white hands were clasped tight together. His entire figure
and face wore every mark of weakness and physical ex-
haustion ; but his eyes contradicted. They were red and
restless.

In the private dining-room the dinner party was in the
best of spirits. Samuel Walcott was happy. Across the
table from him was Miss Virginia St. Clair, radiant, a tinge
of color in her cheeks. On either side, Mrs, Miriam Steu-
visant and Marshall St. Clair were brilliant and light-
hearted. Walcott looked at the young girl and the measure
of his worship was full. He wondered for the thousandth
time how she could possibly love him and by what earthly
miracle she had come to accept him, and how it would be
always to have her across the table from him, his own table
in his own house.

They were about to rise from the table when one of the
waiters entered the room and handed Walcott an envelope.
He thrust it quickly into his pocket. In the confusion of
rising the others did not notice him, but his face was ash
white and his hands trembled violently as he placed the
wraps around the bewitching shoulders of Miss St. Clair.

" Marshall," he said, and despite the powerful effort his
voice was hollow, " you will see the ladies safely cared for,
I am called to attend a grave matter."

" All right, Walcott," answered the young man, with
cheery good nature, "you are too serious, old man, trot
-along."

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" The poor dear," murmured Mrs. Steuvisant, after Wal-
cott had helped them to the carriage and turned to go up
the steps of the club, — " The poor dear is hard hit, and men
are such funny creatures when they are hard hit."

Samuel Walcott, as his fate would, went direct to the
private writing-room and opened the door. The lights were
not turned on and in the dark he did not see Mason motion-
less by the mantel-shelf. He went quickly across the room to
the writing-table, turned on one of the lights, and, taking the
envelope from his pocket, tore it open. Then he bent down
by the light to read the contents. As his eyes ran over the
paper, his jaw fell. The skin drew away from his cheek-
bones and his face seemed literally to sink in. His knees
gave way under him and he would have gone down in a
heap had it not been for Mason's long arms that closed
around him and held him up. The human economy is ever
mysterious. The moment the new danger threatened, the
latent power of the man as an animal, hidden away in the
centers of intelligence, asserted itself. His hand clutched
the paper and, with a half slide, he turned in Mason's arms.
For a moment he stared up at the ugly man whose thin
arms felt like wire ropes.

" You are under the dead-fall, aye," said Mason. " The
cunning of my enemy is sublime."

" Your enemy? " gasped Walcott. " When did you come
into it? How in God's name did you know it? How your
enemy ? "

Mason looked down at the wide bulging eyes of the man.

" Who should know better than I ? " he said. " Haven't
I broken through all the traps and plots that she could set ? "

" She ? She trap you ? " The man's voice was full of
horror,

" The old schemer," muttered Mason. " The cowardly
old schemer, to strike in the back ; but we can beat her. She
did not count on my helping you — I, who know her so well."

Mason's face was red, and his eyes burned. In the midst
of it all he dropped his hands and went over to the fire.
Samuel Walcott arose, panting, and stood looking at Mason,

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Melville Davisson Post

with his hands behind him on the table. The naturally
strong nature and the rigid school in which the man had
been trained presently began to tell. His composure in part
returned and he thought rapidly. What did this strange
man know ? Was he simply making shrewd guesses, or had
he some mysterious knowledge of this matter? Walcott
could not know that Mason meant only Fate, that he be-
lieved her to be his great enemy. Walcott had never before
doubted his own ability to meet any emergency. This mighty
jerk had carried him off his feet. He was unstrung and
panic-stricken. At any rate this man had promised help.
He would take it. He put the paper and envelope carefully
into his pocket, smoothed out his rumpled coat, and going
over to Mason touched him on the shoulder.

" Come," he said, " if you are to help me we must go,"

The man turned and followed him without a word. In
the hall Mason put on his hat and overcoat, and the two
went out into the street. Walcott hailed a cab, and the
two were driven to his house on the avenue, Walcott took
out his latchkey, opened the door, and led the way into the
library. He turned on the light and motioned Mason to
seat himself at the table. Then he went into another room
and presently returned with a bundle of papers and a de-
canter of brandy. He poured out a glass of the liquor and
offered it to Mason, The man shook his head. Walcott
poured the contents of the glass down his own throat. Then
he set the decanter down and drew up a chair on the side
of the table opposite Mason.

" Sir," said Walcott, in a voice deliberate, indeed, but as
hollow as a sepulcher, " I am done for. God has finally
gathered up the ends of the net, and it is knotted tight."

" Am I not here to help you ? " said Mason, turning sav-
agely. " I can beat Fate. Give me the details of her trap."

He bent forward and rested his arms on the table. His
streaked gray hair was rumpled and on end, and his face
was ugly. For a moment Walcott did not answer. He
moved a little into the shadow; then he spread the bundle
of old yellow papers out before him,

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American Mystery Stories

" To begin with," he said, " I am a Hving he, a gilded
crime-made sham, every bit of me. There is not an honest
piece anywhere. It is all lie. I am a liar and a thief before
men. The property which I possess is not mine, but stolen
from a dead man. The very name which I bear is not my
own, but is the bastard child of a crime. I am more than
all that — I am a murderer ; a murderer before the law ; a
murderer before God ; and worse than a murderer before
the pure woman whom I love more than anything that God
could make."

He paused for a moment and wiped the perspiration from
his face,

" Sir," said Mason, " this is all drivel, infantile drivel.
What you are is of no importance. How to get out is the
problem, how to get out,"

Samuel Walcott leaned forward, poured out a glass of
brandy and swallowed it,

" Well," he said, speaking slowly, " my right name is
Richard Warren, In the spring of 1879 I came to New
York and fell in with the real Samuel Walcott, a young
man with a little money and some property which his grand-
father had left him. We became friends, and concluded
to go to the far west together. Accordingly we scraped to-
gether what money we could lay our hands on, and landed
in the gold-mining regions of California, We were young
and inexperienced, and our money went rapidly. One April
morning we drifted into a little shack camp, away up in the
Sierra Nevadas, called Hell's Elbow, Here we struggled
and starved for perhaps a year. Finally, in utter despera-
tion, Walcott married the daughter of a Mexican gambler,
who ran an eating house and a poker joint. With them we
lived from hand to mouth in a wild God-forsaken way for
several years. After a time the woman began to take a
strange fancy to me. Walcott finally noticed it, and grew
jealous.

" One night, in a drunken brawl, we quarreled, and I
killed him. It was late at night, and, beside the woman,
there were four of us in the poker room, — the Mexican

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Melville Davisson Post

gambler, a half-breed devil called Cherubim Pete, Walcott,
and myself. When Walcott fell, the half-breed whipped
out his weapon, and fired at me across the table ; but the
woman, Nina San Croix, struck his arm, and, instead of
killing me, as he intended, the bullet mortally wounded her
father, the Mexican gambler. I shot the half-breed through
the forehead, and turned round, expecting the woman to
attack me. On the contrary, she pointed to the window,
and bade me wait for her on the cross trail below.

" It was fully three hours later before the woman joined
me at the place indicated. She had a bag of gold dust, a
few jewels that belonged to her father, and a package of
papers. I asked her why she had stayed behind so long,
and she replied that the men were not killed outright, and
that she had brought a priest to them and waited until they
had died. This was the truth, but not all the truth. Moved
by superstition or foresight, the woman had induced the
priest to take down the sworn statements of the two dying
men, seal it, and give it to her. This paper she brought
with her. All this I learned afterwards. At the time I
knew nothing of this damning evidence.

" We struck out together for the Pacific coast. The coun-
try was lawless. The privations we endured were almost
past belief. At times the woman exhibited cunning and abil-
ity that were almost genius ; and through it all, often in the
very fingers of death, her devotion to me never wavered. It
was doglike, and seemed to be her only object on earth.
When we reached San Francisco, the woman put these pa-
pers into my hands." Walcott took up the yellow package,
and pushed it across the table to Mason.

" She proposed that I assume Walcott's name, and that
w^e come boldly to New York and claim the property. I
examined the papers, found a copy of the will by which
Walcott inherited the property, a bundle of correspondence,
and sufficient documentary evidence to establish his identity
beyond the shadow of a doubt. Desperate gambler as I now
was, I quailed before the daring plan of Nina San Croix.
I urged that I, Richard Warren, would be known, that the

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attempted fraud would be detected and would result in in-
vestigation, and perhaps unearth the whole horrible matter.

" The woman pointed out how much I resembled Walcott,
what vast changes ten years of such life as we had led
w^ould naturally be expected to make in men, how utterly
impossible it would be to trace back the fraud to Walcott's
murder at Hell's Elbow, in the wild passes of the Sierra
Nevadas. She bade me remember that we were both out-
casts, both crime-branded, both enemies of man's law and
God's; that we had nothing to lose; we were both sunk to
the bottom. Then she laughed, and said that she had not
found me a coward until now, but that if I had turned
chicken-hearted, that was the end of it, of course. The re-
sult was, we sold the gold dust and jewels in San Francisco,
took on such evidences of civilization as possible, and pur-
chased passage to New York on the best steamer we could
find.

" I was growing to depend on the bold gambler spirit of
this woman, Nina San Croix ; I felt the need of her strong,
profligate nature. She was of a queer breed and a queerer
school. Her mother was the daughter of a Spanish engi-
neer, and had been stolen by the Mexican, her father. She
herself had been raised and educated as best might be in
one of the monasteries along the Rio Grande, and had there
grown to womanhood before her father, fleeing into the
mountains of California, carried her with him.

" When we landed in New York I offered to announce
her as my wife, but she refused, saying that her presence
would excite comment and perhaps attract the attention of
Walcott's relatives. We therefore arranged that I should
go alone into the city, claim the property, and announce my-
self as Samuel Walcott, and that she should remain under
cover until such time as we would feel the ground safe un-
der us.

" Every detail of the plan was fatally successful. I estab-
lished my identity without difficulty and secured the property.
It had increased vastly in value, and I, as Samuel Walcott,
soon found myself a rich man. I went to Nina San Croix

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Melville Davis son Post

in hiding and gave her a large sum of money, with which
she purchased a residence in a retired part of the city, far
up in the northern suburb. Here she lived secluded and
unknown while I remained in the city, living here as a
wealthy bachelor,

" I did not attempt to abandon the woman, but went to
her from time to time in disguise and under cover of the
greatest secrecy. For a time everything ran smooth, the
woman was still devoted to me above everything else, and
thought always of my welfare first and seemed content to
wait so long as I thought best. My business expanded. I
was sought after and consulted and drawn into the higher
life of New York, and more and more felt that the woman
was an albatross on my neck. I put her off with one excuse
after another. Finally she began to suspect me and de-
manded that I should recognize her as my wife. I at-
tempted to point out the difficulties. She met them all
by saying that we should both go to Spain, there I could
marry her and we could return to America and drop into
my place in society without causing more than a passing
comment.

" I concluded to meet the matter squarely once for all.
I said that I would convert half of the property into money
and give it to her, but that I would not marry her. She
did not fly into a storming rage as I had expected, but went
quietly out of the room and presently returned with two
papers, which she read. One was the certificate of her mar-
riage to Walcott duly authenticated ; the other was the dying
statement of her father, the Mexican gambler, and of Sam-
uel Walcott, charging me with murder. It was in proper
form and certified by the Jesuit priest.

" ' Now,' she said, sweetly, when she had finished, * which
do you prefer, to recognize your wife, or to turn all the
property over to Samuel Walcott's widow and hang for his
murder? '

" I was dumfounded and horrified. I saw the trap that
I was in and I consented to do anything she should say if
she would only destroy the papers. This she refused to do.

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American Mystery Stories

I pleaded with her and implored her to destroy them.
Finally she gave them to me with a great show of returning
confidence, and I tore them into bits and threw them into the
fire.

" That was three months ago. We arranged to go to
Spain and do as she said. She was to sail this morning and
I was to follow. Of course I never intended to go. I con-
gratulated myself on the fact that all trace of evidence
against me was destroyed and that her grip was now broken.
My plan was to induce her to sail, believing that I would
follow. When she was gone I would marry Miss St. Clair,
and if Nina San Croix should return I would defy her and
lock her up as a lunatic. But I was reckoning like an in-
fernal ass, to imagine for a moment that I could thus hood-
wink such a woman as Nina San Croix.

" To-night I received this." Walcott took the envelope
from his pocket and gave it to Mason. " You saw the
effect of it ; read it and you will understand why. I felt the
death hand when I saw her writing on the envelope."

Mason took the paper from the envelope. It was written
in Spanish, and ran :

" Greeting to Richard Warren.

" The great Senor does his little Nina injustice to think
she would go away to Spain and leave him to the beautiful
American. She is not so thoughtless. Before she goes, she
shall be, Oh so very rich ! and the dear Seiior shall be, Oh
so very safe ! The Archbishop and the kind Church hate
murderers.

" Nina San Croix.

" Of course, fool, the papers you destroyed were copies.

" N. San C."

To this was pinned a line in a delicate aristocratic hand,
saying that the Archbishop would willingly listen to Madam
San Croix's statement if she would come to him on Friday
morning at eleven.

" You see," said Walcott, desperately, " there is no pos-

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Melville Davisson Post

sible way out. I know the woman — when she decides to do
a thing that is the end of it. She has decided to do this."

Mason turned around from the table, stretched out his
long legs, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. Wal-
cott sat with his head down, watching Mason hopelessly,
almost indifferently, his face blank and sunken. The ticking
of the bronze clock on the mantel shelf was loud, painfully
loud. Suddenly Mason drew his knees in and bent over,
put both his bony hands on the table, and looked at Walcott.

" Sir," he said, " this matter is in such shape that there
is only one thing to do. This growth must be cut out at
the roots, and cut out quickly. This is the first fact to be
determined, and a fool would know it. The second fact is
that you must do it yourself. Hired killers are like the grave
and the daughters of the horse leech, — they cry always,
' Give, Give.' They are only palliatives, not cures. By using
them you swap perils. You simply take a stay of execution
at best. The common criminal would know this. These are
the facts of your problem. The master plotters of crime
would see here but two difficulties to meet :

" A practical method for accomplishing the body of the
crime.

" A cover for the criminal agent.

" They would see no farther, and attempt to guard no
farther. After they had provided a plan for the killing, and
a means by which the killer could cover his trail and escape
from the theater of the homicide, they would believe all the
requirements of the problems met, and would stop. The
greatest, the very giants among them, have stopped here and
have been in great error.

" In every crime, especially i.f the great ones, there exists
a third element, preeminently vital. This third element the
master plotters have either overlooked or else have not had
the genius to construct. They plan with rare cunning to
baffle the victim. They plan with vast wisdom, almost
genius, to baffle the trailer. But they fail utterly to provide
any plan for baffling the punisher. Ergo, their plots are
fatally defective and often result in ruin. Hence the vital

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necessity for providing the third element — the escape ipso
jure."

Mason arose, walked around the table, and put his hand
firmly on Samuel Walcott's shoulder. " This must be done
to-morrow night," he continued ; " you must arrange your
business matters to-morrow and announce that you are go-
ing on a yacht cruise, by order of your physician, and may
not return for some weeks. You must prepare your yacht
for a voyage, instruct your men to touch at a certain point
on Staten Island, and wait until six o'clock day after to-
morrow morning. If you do not come aboard by that time,
they are to go to one of the South American ports and re-
main until further orders. By this means your absence for
an indefinite period will be explained. You will go to Nina
San Croix in the disguise which you have always used, and
from her to the yacht, and by this means step out of your
real status and back into it without leaving traces. I will
come here to-morrow evening and furnish you with every-
thing that you shall need and give you full and exact in-
structions in every particular. These details you must exe-
cute with the greatest care, as they will be vitally essential
to the success of my plan."

Through it all Walcott had been silent and motionless.
Now he arose, and in his face there must have been some
premonition of protest, for Mason stepped back and put out
his hand. " Sir," he said, with brutal emphasis, " not a
word. Remember that you are only the hand, and the hand
does not think." Then he turned around abruptly and went
out of the house.

Ill

The place which Samuel Walcott had selected for the
residence of Nina San Croix was far up in the northern
suburb of New York. The place was very old. The lawn
was large and ill kept ; the house, a square old-fashioned
brick, was set far back from the street, and partly hidden

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Melville Davisson Post

by trees. Around it all was a rusty iron fence. The place
had the air of genteel ruin, such as one finds in the Vir-
ginias,

On a Thursday of November, about three o'clock in the
afternoon, a little man, driving a dray, stopped in the alley
at the rear of the house. As he opened the back gate an
old negro woman came down the steps from the kitchen
and demanded to know what he wanted. The drayman
asked if the lady of the house was in. The old negro an-
swered that she was asleep at this hour and could not be
seen.

" That is good," said the little man, " now there won't
be any row. I brought up some cases of wine which she
ordered from our house last week and which the Boss told
me to deliver at once, but I forgot it until to-day. Just let
me put it in the cellar now. Auntie, and don't say a word
to the lady about it and she won't ever know that it was not
brought up on time."

The drayman stopped, fished a silver dollar out of his
pocket, and gave it to the old negro. " There now. Auntie,"
he said, " my job depends upon the lady not knowing about
this wine; keep it mum."

" Dat's all right, honey," said the old servant, beaming
like a May morning. " De cellar door is open, carry it all
in and put it in de back part and nobody ain't never going
to know how long it has been in dar."

The old negro went back into the kitchen and the little
man began to unload the dray. He carried in five wine
cases and stowed them away in the back part of the cellar
as the old woman had directed. Then, after having satisfied
himself that no one was watching, he took from the dray
two heavy paper sacks, presumably filled with flour, and a
little bundle wrapped in an old newspaper; these he care-
fully hid behind the wine cases in the cellar. After awhile
he closed the door, climbed on his dray, and drove ofif down
the alley.

About eight o'clock in the evening of the same day, a
Mexican sailor dodged in the front gate and slipped down

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American Mystery Stories

to th-e side of the house. He stopped by the window and
tapped on it with his finger. In a moment a woman opened
the door. She was tall, lithe, and splendidly proportioned,
with a dark Spanish face and straight hair. The man
stepped inside. The woman bolted the door and turned
round.

" Ah," she said, smiling, " it is you, Senor ? How good
of you ! "

The man started. " Whom else did you expect? " he said
quickly.

" Oh ! " laughed the woman, " perhaps the Archbishop."

" Nina ! " said the man, in a broken voice that expressed
love, humility, and reproach. His face was white under the
black sunburn.

For a moment the woman wavered. A shadow flitted over
her eyes, then she stepped back. " No," she said, " not yet."

The man walked across to the fire, sank down in a chair,
and covered his face with his hands. The woman stepped
up noiselessly behind him and leaned over the chair. The
man was either in great agony or else he was a superb actor,
for the muscles of his neck twitched violently and his shoul-
ders trembled.

" Oh," he muttered, as though echoing his thoughts, " I
can't do it, I can't ! "

The woman caught the words and leaped up as though
some one had struck her in the face. She threw back her
head. Her nostrils dilated and her eyes flashed.

" You can't do it ! " she cried. " Then you do love her !
You shall do it ! Do you hear me ? You shall do it ! You
killed him ! You got rid of him ! but you shall not get rid
of me. I have the evidence, all of it. The Archbishop will
have it to-morrow. They shall hang you ! Do you hear
me ? They shall hang you ! "

The woman's voice rose, it was loud and shrill. The man
turned slowly round without looking up, and stretched out
his arms toward the woman. She stopped and looked down
at him. The fire glittered for a moment and then died out
of her eyes, her bosom heaved and her lips began to tremble.

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Melville Davisson Post

With a cry she flung herself into his arms, caught him
around the neck, and pressed his face up close against her
cheek.

" Oh ! Dick, Dick," she sobbed, " I do love you so ! I
can't live without you ! Not another hour, Dick ! I do want
you so much, so much, Dick ! "

The man shifted his right arm quickly, slipped a great
Mexican knife out of his sleeve, and passed his fingers
slowly up the woman's side until he felt the heart beat under
his hand, then he raised the knife, gripped the handle tight,
and drove the keen blade into the woman's bosom. The hot
blood gushed out over his arm, and down on his leg. The
body, warm and limp, slipped down in his arms. The man
got up, pulled out the knife, and thrust it into a sheath at
his belt, unbuttoned the dress, and slipped it off of the body.
As he did this a bundle of papers dropped upon the floor ;
these he glanced at hastily and put into his pocket. Then
he took the dead woman up in his arms, went out into the
hall, and started to go up the stairway. The body was re-
laxed and heavy, and for that reason difficult to carry. He
doubled it up into an awful heap, with the knees against
the chin, and walked slowly and heavily up the stairs and
out into the bathroom. There he laid the corpse down on
the tiled floor. Then he opened the window, closed the shut-
ters, and lighted the gas. The bathroom was small and
contained an ordinary steel tub, porcelain lined, standing
near the window and raised about six inches above the floor.
The sailor went over to the tub, pried up the metal rim of
the outlet with his knife, removed it, and fitted into its place
a porcelain disk which he took from his pocket ; to this disk
was attached a long platinum wire, the end of which he
fastened on the outside of the tub. After he had done this
he went back to the body, stripped off its clothing, put it
down in the tub and began to dismember it with the great
Mexican knife. The blade was strong and sharp as a razor.
The man worked rapidly and with the greatest care.

When he had finally cut the body into as small pieces as
possible, he replaced the knife in its sheath, washed his

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American Mystery Stories

hands, and went out of the bathroom and downstairs to
the lower hall. The sailor seemed perfectly familiar with
the house. By a side door he passed into the cellar. There
he lighted the gas, opened one of the wine cases, and, taking
i:p all the bottles that he could conveniently carry, returned
to the bathroom. There he poured the contents into the tub
on the dismembered body, and then returned to the cellar
with the empty bottles, which he replaced in the wine cases.
This he continued to do until all the cases but one were
emptied and the bath tub was more than half full of liquid.
This liquid was sulphuric acid.

When the sailor returned to the cellar with the last empty
wine bottles, he opened the fifth case, which really contained
wine, took some of it out, and poured a little into each of
the empty bottles in order to remove any possible odor of
the sulphuric acid. Then he turned out the gas and brought
up to the bathroom with him the two paper flour sacks and
the little heavy bundle. These sacks were filled with nitrate
of soda. He set them down by the door, opened the little
bundle, and took out two long rubber tubes, each attached
to a heavy gas burner, not unlike the ordinary burners of a
small gas stove. He fastened the tubes to two of the gas
jets, put the burners under the tub, turned the gas on full,
and lighted it. Then he threw into the tub the woman's
clothing and the papers which he had found on her body,
after which he took up the two heavy sacks of nitrate of
soda and dropped them carefully into the sulphuric acid.
When he had done this he went quickly out of the bath-
room and closed the door.

The deadly acids at once attacked the body and began to
destroy it; as the heat increased, the acids boiled and the
destructive process was rapid and awful. From time to time
the sailor opened the door of the bathroom cautiously, and,
holding a wet towel over his mouth and nose, looked in at
his horrible work. At the end of a few hours there was
only a swimming mass in the tub. When the man looked
at four o'clock, it was all a thick murky liquid. He turned
off the gas quickly and stepped back out of the room. For

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perhaps half an hour he waited in the hall ; finally, when
the acids had cooled so that they no longer gave off fumes,
he opened the door and went in, took hold of the platinum
wire and, pulling the porcelain disk from the stopcock,
allowed the awful contents of the tub to run out. Then he
turned on the hot water, rinsed the tub clean, and replaced
the metal outlet. Removing the rubber tubes, he cut them
into pieces, broke the porcelain disk, and, rolling up the
platinum wire, washed it all down the sewer pipe.

The fumes had escaped through the open window; this
he now closed and set himself to putting the bathroom in
order, and effectually removing every trace of his night's
work. The sailor moved around with the very greatest de-
gree of care. Finally, when he had arranged everything to
his complete satisfaction, he picked up the two burners,
turned out the gas, and left the bathroom, closing the door
after him. From the bathroom he went directly to the attic,
concealed the two rusty burners under a heap of rubbish,
and then walked carefully and noiselessly down the stairs
and through the lower hall. As he opened the door and
stepped into the room where he had killed the woman, two
police officers sprang out and seized him. The man screamed
like a wild beast taken in a trap and sank down.

" Oh ! oh ! " he cried, " it was no use ! it was no use to do
it ! " Then he recovered himself in a manner and was silent.
The officers handcuffed him, summoned the patrol, and took
him at once to the station house. There he said he was a
Mexican sailor and that his name was Victor Ancona ; but
he would say nothing further. The following morning he
sent for Randolph Mason and the two were long together.

IV

The obscure defendant charged with murder has little
reason to complain of the law's delays. The morning fol-
lowing the arrest of Victor Ancona, the newspapers pub-
lished long sensational articles, denounced him as a fiend,

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and convicted him. The grand jury, as it happened, was in
session. The prehminaries were soon arranged and the case
was railroaded into trial. The indictment contained a great
many counts, and charged the prisoner with the murder of
Nina San Croix by striking, stabbing, choking, poisoning,
and so forth.

The trial had continued for three days and had appeared
so overwhelmingly one-sided that the spectators who were
crowded in the court room had grown to be violent and bitter
partisans, to such an extent that the police watched them
closely. The attorneys for the People were dramatic and
denunciatory, and forced their case with arrogant confidence.
Mason, as counsel for the prisoner, was indifferent and list-
less. Throughout the entire trial he had sat almost motion-
less at the table, his gaunt form bent over, his long legs
drawn up under his chair, and his weary, heavy-muscled
face, with its restless eyes, fixed and staring out over the
heads of the jury, was like a tragic mask. The bar, and
even the judge, believed that the prisoner's counsel had aban-
doned his case.

The evidence was all in and the People rested. It had
been shown that Nina San Croix had resided for many years
in the house in which the prisoner was arrested ; that she
had lived by herself, with no other companion than an old
negro servant ; that her past was unknown, and that she
received no visitors, save the Mexican sailor, who came to
her house at long intervals. Nothing whatever was shown
tending to explain who the prisoner was or whence he had
come. It was shown that on Tuesday preceding the killing
the Archbishop had received a communication from Nina
San Croix, in which she said she desired to make a statement
of the greatest import, and asking for an audience. To this
the Archbishop replied that he would willingly grant her
a hearing if she would come to him at eleven o'clock on
Friday morning. Two policemen testified that about eight
o'clock on the night of Thursday they had noticed the pris-
oner slip into the gate of Nina San Croix's residence and
go down to the side of the house, where he was admitted ;

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Melville Davisson Post

that his appearance and seeming haste had attracted their
attention ; that they had concluded that it was some clandes-
tine amour, and out of curiosity had both slipped down to
the house and endeavored to find a position from which they
could see into the room, but were unable to do so, and were
about to go back to the street when they heard a woman's
voice cry out in great anger : " I know that you love her
and that you want to get rid of me, but you shall not do it !
You murdered him, but you shall not murder me! I have
all the evidence to convict you of murdering him ! The
Archbishop will have it to-morrow ! They shall hang you !
Do you hear me ? They shall hang you for this murder ! "
that thereupon one of the policemen proposed that they
should break into the house and see what was wrong, but
the other had urged that it was only the usual lovers' quar-
rel and if they should interfere they would find nothing upon
which a charge could be based and would only be laughed
at by the chief ; that they had waited and listened for a time,
but hearing nothing further had gone back to the street
and contented themselves with keeping a strict watch on the
house.

The People proved further, that on Thursday evening
Nina San Croix had given the old negro domestic a sum of
money and dismissed her, with the instruction that she was
not to return until sent for. The old woman testified that
she had gone directly to the house of her son, and later had
discovered that she had forgotten some articles of clothing
which she needed ; that thereupon she had returned to the
house and had gone up the back way to her room, — this was
about eight o'clock ; that while there she had heard Nina
San Croix's voice in great passion and remembered that she
had used the words stated by the policemen ; that these sud-
den, violent cries had frightened her greatly and she had
bolted the door and been afraid to leave the room ; shortly
thereafter, she had heard heavy footsteps ascending the
stairs, slowly and with great difficulty, as though some one
were carrying a heavy burden ; that therefore her fear had
increased and that she had put out the light and hidden

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under the bed. She remembered hearing the footsteps mov-
ing about upstairs for many hours, how long she could not
tell. Finally, about half-past four in the morning, she crept
out, opened the door, slipped downstairs, and ran out into
the street. There she had found the policemen and re-
quested them to search the house.

The two officers had gone to the house with the woman.
She had opened the door and they had had just time to step
back into the shadow when the prisoner entered. When ar-
rested, Victor Ancona had screamed with terror, and cried
out, " It was no use ! it was no use to do it ! "

The Chief of Police had come to the house and instituted
a careful search. In the room below, from which the cries
had come, he found a dress which was identified as belong-
ing to Nina San Croix and which she was wearing when
last seen by the domestic, about six o'clock that evening.
This dress was covered with blood, and had a slit about two
inches long in the left side of the bosom, into which the
Mexican knife, found on the prisoner, fitted perfectly. These
articles were introduced in evidence, and it was shown that
the slit would be exactly over the heart of the wearer, and
that such a wound would certainly result in death. There
was much blood on one of the chairs and on the floor.
There was also blood on the prisoner's coat and the leg
of his trousers, and the heavy Mexican knife was also
bloody. The blood was shown by the experts to be human
blood.

The body of the woman was not found, and the most
rigid and tireless search failed to develop the slightest trace
of the corpse, or the manner of its disposal. The body of
the woman had disappeared as completely as though it had
vanished into the air.

When counsel announced that he had closed for the
People, the judge turned and looked gravely down at Mason.
" Sir," he said, " the evidence for the defense may now be
introduced."

Randolph Mason arose slowly and faced the judge.

"If your Honor please," he said, speaking slowly and dis-

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Melville Davisson Post

tinctly, " the defendant has no evidence to offer." He
paused while a murmur of astonishment ran over the court
room. " But, if your Honor please," he continued, " I move
that the jury be directed to find the prisoner not guilty."

The crowd stirred. The counsel for the People smiled.
The judge looked sharply at the speaker over his glasses.
" On what ground ? " he said curtly.

" On the ground," repUed Mason, " that the corpus delicti
has not been proven."

" Ah! " said the judge, for once losing his judicial gravity.

Mason sat down abruptly. The senior counsel for the
prosecution was on his feet in a moment.

" What! " he said, " the gentleman bases his motion on a
failure to establish the corpus delicti? Does he jest, or has
he forgotten the evidence? The term 'corpus delicti^ is
technical, and means the body of the crime, or the substan-
tial fact that a crime has been committed. Does anyone
doubt it in this case? It is true that no one actually saw
the prisoner kill the decedent, and that he has so success-
fully hidden the body that it has not been found, but the
powerful chain of circumstances, clear and close-linked,
proving motive, the criminal agency, and the criminal act,
is overwhelming.

" The victim in this case is on the eve of making a state-
ment that would prove fatal to the prisoner. The night be-
fore the statement is to be made he goes to her residence.
They quarrel. Her voice is heard, raised high in the greatest
passion, denouncing him, and charging that he is a mur-
derer, that she has the evidence and will reveal it, that he
shall be hanged, and that he shall not be rid of her. Here
is the motive for the crime, clear as Hght. Are not the
bloody knife, the bloody dress, the bloody clothes of the
prisoner, unimpeachable witnesses to the criminal act ? The
criminal agency of the prisoner has not the shadow of a
possibility to obscure it. His motive is gigantic. The
blood on him, and his despair when arrested, cry * Murder!
murder ! ' with a thousand tongues.

" Men may lie, but circumstances cannot. The thousand

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hopes and fears and passions of men may delude, or bias
the witness. Yet it is beyond the human mind to conceive
that a clear, complete chain of concatenated circumstances
can be in error. Hence it is that the greatest jurists have
declared that such evidence, being rarely liable to delusion
or fraud, is safest and most powerful. The machinery of
human justice cannot guard against the remote and im-
probable doubt. The inference is persistent in the afifairs
of men. It is the only means by which the human mind
reaches the truth. If you forbid the jury to exercise it, you
bid them work after first striking ofT their hands. Rule out
the irresistible inference, and the end of justice is come in
this land; and you may as well leave the spider to weave
his web through the abandoned court room."

The attorney stopped, looked down at Mason with a pom-
pous sneer, and retired to his place at the table. The judge
sat thoughtful and motionless. The jurymen leaned for-
ward in their seats.

" If your Honor please," said Mason, rising, " this is a
matter of law, plain, clear, and so well settled in the State
of New York that even counsel for the People should know
it. The question before your Honor is simple. If the cor-
pus delicti, the body of the crime, has been proven, as re-
quired by the laws of the commonwealth, then this case
should go to the jury. If not, then it is the duty of this
Court to direct the jury to find the prisoner not guilty.
There is here no room for judicial discretion. Your Honor
has but to recall and apply the rigid rule announced by our
courts prescribing distinctly how the corpus delicti in murder
must be proven.

" The prisoner here stands charged with the highest
crime. The law demands, first, that the crime, as a fact,
be established. The fact that the victim is indeed dead
must first be made certain before anyone can be convicted
for her killing, because, so long as there remains the re-
motest doubt as to the death, there can be no certainty as
to the criminal agent, although the circumstantial evidence
indicating the guilt of the accused may be positive, com-

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Melville Davisson Post

plete, and utterly irresistible. In murder, the corpus delicti,
or body of the crime, is composed of two elements :

'* Death, as a result.

" The criminal agency of another as the means.

" It is the fixed and immutable law of this State, laid
down in the leading case of Ruloff z>. The People, and bind-
ing upon this Court, that both components of the corpus
delicti shall not be established by circumstantial evidence.
There must be direct proof of one or the other of these
two component elements of the corpus delicti. If one is
proven by direct evidence, the other may be presumed;
but both shall not be presumed from circumstances, no mat-
ter how powerful, how cogent, or how completely over-
whelming the circumstances may be. In other words, no
man can be convicted of murder in the State of New York,
unless the body of the victim be found and identified, or
there be direct proof that the prisoner did some act ade-
quate to produce death, and did it in such a manner as to
account for the disappearance of the body."

The face of the judge cleared and grew hard. The mem-
bers of the bar were attentive and alert; they were begin-
ning to see the legal escape open up. The audience were
puzzled ; they did not yet understand. Mason turned to the
counsel for the People. His ugly face was bitter with con-
tempt.

" For three days," he said, " I have been tortured by this
useless and expensive farce. If counsel for the People had
been other than play-actors, they would have known in the
beginning that Victor Ancona could not be convicted for
murder, unless he were confronted in this court room with
a living witness, who had looked into the dead face of Nina
San Croix; or, if not that, a living witness who had seen
him drive the dagger into her bosom.

" I care not if the circumstantial evidence in this case
were so strong and irresistible as to be overpowering; if
the judge on the bench, if the jury, if every man within
sound of my voice, were convinced of the guilt of the pris-
oner to the degree of certainty that is absolute; if the cir-

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cumstantial evidence left in the mind no shadow of the
remotest improbable doubt; yet, in the absence of the eye-
witness, this prisoner cannot be punished, and this Court
must compel the jury to acquit him."

The audience now understood, and they were dum-
founded. Surely this was not the law. They had been
taught that the law was common sense, and this, — this was
anything else.

Alason saw it all, and grinned. " In its tenderness," he
sneered, " the law shields the innocent. The good law of
New York reaches out its hand and lifts the prisoner out
of the clutches of the fierce jury that would hang him."

Mason sat down. The room was silent. The jurymen
looked at each other in amazement. The counsel for the
People arose. His face was white with anger, and in-
credulous.

" Your Honor," he said, " this doctrine is monstrous.
Can it be said that, in order to evade punishment, the mur-
derer has only to hide or destroy the body of the victim, or
sink it into the sea? Then, if he is not seen to kill, the law
is powerless and the murderer can snap his finger in the
face of retributive justice. If this is the law, then the law
for the highest crime is a dead letter. The great common-
wealth winks at murder and invites every man to kill his
enemy, provided he kill him in secret and hide him. I re-
peat, your Honor," — the man's voice was now loud and
angry and rang through the court room — " that this doc-
trine is monstrous!"

" So said Best, and Story, and many another," muttered
Mason, " and the law remained."

" The Court," said the judge, abruptly, " desires no fur-
ther argument."

The counsel for the People resumed his seat. His face
lighted up with triumph. The Court was going to sustain
him.

The judge turned and looked down at the jury. He was
grave, and spoke with deliberate emphasis.

" Gentlemen of the jury," he said, " the rule of Lord Hale

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Melville Davisson Post

obtains in this State and is binding upon me. It is the law
as stated by counsel for the prisoner: that to warrant con-
viction of murder there must be direct proof either of the
death, as of the finding and identification of the corpse, or
of criminal violence adequate to produce death, and ex-
erted in such a manner as to account for the disappearance
of the body; and it is only when there is direct proof of the
one that the other can be estabhshed by circumstantial evi-
dence. This is the law, and cannot now be departed from.
I do not presume to explain its wisdom. Chief-Justice
Johnson has observed, in the leading case, that it may have
its probable foundation in the idea that where direct proof
is absent as to both the fact of the death and of criminal
violence capable of producing death, no evidence can rise
to the degree of moral certainty that the individual is dead
by criminal intervention, or even lead by direct inference
to this result; and that, where the fact of death is not cer-
tainly ascertained, all inculpatory circumstantial evidence
wants the key necessary for its satisfactory interpretation,
and cannot be depended on to furnish more than probable
results. It may be, also, that such a rule has some refer-
ence to the dangerous possibility that a general preconcep-
tion of guilt, or a general excitement of popular feeling,
may creep in to supply the place of evidence, if, upon other
than direct proof of death or a cause of death, a jury are
permitted to pronounce a prisoner guilty.

" In this case the body has not been found and there is
no direct proof of criminal agency on the part of the pris-
oner, although the chain of circumstantial evidence is com-
plete and irresistible in the highest degree. Nevertheless,
it is all circumstantial evidence, and under the laws of New
York the prisoner cannot be punished. I have no right
of discretion. The law does not permit a conviction in this
case, although every one of us may be morally certain of
the prisoner's guilt. I am, therefore, gentlemen of the
jury, compelled to direct you to find the prisoner not
guilty."

"Judge," interrupted the foreman, jumping up in the

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American Mystery Stories

box, " we cannot find that verdict under our oath; we know
that this man is guilty."

** Sir," said the judge, " this is a matter of law in which
the wishes of the jury cannot be considered. The clerk
will write a verdict of not guilty, which you, as foreman,
will sign."

The spectators broke out into a threatening murmur that
began to grow and gather volume. The judge rapped on
his desk and ordered the bailiffs promptly to suppress any
demonstration on the part of the audience. Then he di-
rected the foreman to sign the verdict prepared by the clerk.
When this was done he turned to Victor Ancona; his face
was hard and there was a cold glitter in his eyes.

" Prisoner at the bar," he said, " you have been put to
trial before this tribunal on a charge of cold-blooded and
atrocious murder. The evidence produced against you
was of such powerful and overwhelming character that
it seems to have left no doubt in the minds of the jury,
nor indeed in the mind of any person present in this
court room.

" Had the question of your guilt been submitted to these
twelve arbiters, a conviction would certainly have resulted
and the death penalty would have been imposed. But the
law, rigid, passionless, even-eyed, has thrust in between you
and the wrath of your fellows and saved you from it. I do
not cry out against the impotency of the law; it is perhaps
as wise as imperfect humanity could make it. I deplore,
rather, the genius of evil men who, by cunning design, are
enabled to slip through the fingers of this law. I have no
word of censure or admonition for you, Victor Ancona.
The law of New York compels me to acquit you. I am
only its mouthpiece, with my individual wishes throttled.
I speak only those things which the law directs I shall
speak.

" You are now at liberty to leave this court room, not
guiltless of the crime of murder, perhaps, but at least rid
of its punishment. The eyes of men may see Cain's mark
on your brow, but the eyes of the Law are blind to it."

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Melville Davisson Post

When the audience fully realized what the judge had
said they were amazed and silent. They knew as well as
men could know, that Victor Ancona was guilty of murder,
and yet he was now going out of the court room free.
Could it happen that the law protected only against the
blundering rogue? They had heard always of the boasted
completeness of the law which magistrates from time im-
memorial had labored to perfect, and now when the skillful
villain sought to evade it, they saw how weak a thing it
was.

V

The wedding march of Lohengrin floated out from the
Episcopal Church of St. Mark, clear and sweet, and perhaps
heavy with its paradox of warning. The theater of this
coming contract before high heaven was a wilderness of
roses worth the taxes of a county. The high caste of Man-
hattan, by the grace of the check book, were present,
clothed in Parisian purple and fine linen, cunningly and
marvelously wrought.

Over in her private pew, ablaze with jewels, and decked
with fabrics from the deft hand of many a weaver, sat Mrs.
Miriam Steuvisant as imperious and self-complacent as a
queen. To her it was all a kind of triumphal procession,
proclaiming her ability as a general. With her were a
choice few of the genus homo, which obtains at the five-
o'clock teas, instituted, say the sages, for the purpose of
sprinkling the holy water of Lethe.

" Czarina," whispered Reggie Du Puyster, leaning for-
ward, " I salute you. The ceremony stib jugum is superb."

" Walcott is an excellent fellow," answered Mrs. Steuvi-
sant; " not a vice, you know, Reggie."

" Aye, Empress," put in the others, " a purist taken in
the net. The clean-skirted one has come to the altar. Vive
la vertu! "

Samuel Walcott, still sunburned from his cruise, stood
before the chancel with the only daughter of the blue-

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American Mystery Stories

blooded St. Clairs. His face was clear and honest and his
voice firm. This was life and not romance. The lid of the
sepulcher had closed and he had slipped from under it.
And now, and ever after, the hand red with murder was
clean as any.

The minister raised his voice, proclaiming the holy union
before God, and this twain, half pure, half foul, now by
divine ordinance one flesh, bowed down before it. No blood
cried from the ground. The sunlight of high noon streamed
down through the window panes like a benediction.

Back in the pew of Mrs. Miriam Steuvisant, Reggie Du
Puyster turned down his thumb. " Habetl" he said.
From " The Strange Schemes of Randolph Mason," by
Melville Davisson Post. Copyright, 1896, by G. P. Put-
nam's Sons.

96

Ambrose Bierce
An Heiress from Redhorse

CoRONADO, June 20th.

T FIND myself more and more interested in him. It is
not, I am sure, his — do you know any noun corre-
sponding to the adjective " handsome " ? One does not like
to say " beauty " when speaking of a man. He is handsome
enough, heaven knows ; I should not even care to trust you
with him — faithful of all possible wives that you are — when
he looks his best, as he always does. Nor do I think the
fascination of his manner has much to do with it. You
recollect that the charm of art inheres in that which is un-
definable, and to you and me, my dear Irene, I fancy there
is rather less of that in the branch of art under considera-
tion than to girls in their first season. I fancy I know how
my fine gentleman produces many of his efifects, and could,
perhaps, give him a pointer on heightening them. Never-
theless, his manner is something truly delightful. I sup-
pose what interests me chiefly is the man's brains. His
conversation is the best I have ever heard, and altogether
unlike anyone's else. He seems to know everything, as, in-
deed, he ought, for he has been everywhere, read every-
thing, seen all there is to see — sometimes I think rather
more than is good for him — and had acquaintance with the
queerest people. And then his voice — Irene, when I hear
it I actually feel as if I ought to have paid at the door,
though, of course, it is my own door.

July 3d.

I fear my remarks about Dr. Barritz must have been,
being thoughtless, very silly, or you would not have written
of him with such levity, not to say disrespect. Believe me,
dearest, he has more dignity and seriousness (of the kind,

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American Mystery Stories

I mean, which is not inconsistent with a manner sometimes
playful and ahvays charming) than any of the men that
you and I ever met. And young Raynor — you knew Ray-
nor at Monterey — tells me that the men all like him, and
that he is treated with something like deference everywhere.
There is a mystery, too — something about his connection
with the Blavatsky people in Northern India. Raynor either
would not or could not tell me the particulars. I infer that
Dr. Barritz is thought — don't you dare to laugh at me — a
magician! Could anything be finer than that? An ordi-
nary mystery is not, of course, as good as a scandal, but
when it relates to dark and dreadful practices — to the exer-
cise of unearthly powers — could anything be more piquant?
It explains, too, the singular influence the man has upon me.
It is the undefinable in his art — black art. Seriously, dear,
I quite tremble when he looks me full in the eyes with those
unfathomable orbs of his, which I have already vainly at-
tempted to describe to you. How dreadful if we have the
power to make one fall in love ! Do you know if the Blavat-
sky crowd have that power — outside of Sepoy?

July I
The strangest thing! Last evening while Auntie was
attending one of the hotel hops (I hate them) Dr. Barritz
called. It was scandalously late — I actually believe he had
talked with Aimtie in the ballroom, and learned from her
that I was alone. I had been all the evening contriving how
to worm out of him the truth about his connection with the
Thugs in Sepoy, and all of that black business, but the
moment he fixed his eyes on me (for I admitted him, I'm
ashamed to say) I was helpless, I trembled, I blushed, I —
O Irene, Irene, I love the man beyond expression, and you
know how it is yourself!

Fancy ! I, an ugly duckling from Redhorse — daughter
(they say) of old Calamity Jim — certainly his heiress, with
no living relation but an absurd old aunt, who spoils me a
thousand and fifty ways — absolutely destitute of everything
but a million dollars and a hope in Paris — I daring to love

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Ambrose Bicrce

a god like him ! My dear, if I had you here, I could tear
your hair out with mortification.

I am convinced that he is aware of my feeling, for he
stayed but a few moments, said nothing but what another
man might have said half as well, and pretending that he
had an engagement went away. I learned to-day (a little
bird told me — the bell bird) that he went straight to bed.
How does that strike you as evidence of exemplary habits?

July 17th.

That little wretch, Raynor, called yesterday, and his bab-
ble set me almost wild. He never runs down — that is to
say, when he exterminates a score of reputations, more or
less, he does not pause between one reputation and the next.
(By the way, he inquired about you, and his manifestations
of interest in you had, I confess, a good deal of vraisem-
blance. )

Mr. Raynor observes no game laws; like Death (which
he would inflict if slander were fatal) he has all seasons
for his own. But I like him, for we knew one another at
Redhorse when we were young and true-hearted and bare-
footed. He was known in those far fair days as " Giggles,"
and I — O Irene, can you ever forgive me? — I was called
'■ Gunny." God knows why ; perhaps in allusion to the
material of my pinafores ; perhaps because the name is in
alliteration with " Giggles," for Gig and I were inseparable
playmates, and the miners may have thought it a deli-
cate compliment to recognize some kind of relationship
between us.

Later, we took in a third — another of Adversity's brood,
who, like Garrick between Tragedy and Comedy, had a
chronic inability to adjudicate the rival claims (to himself)
of Frost and Famine. Between him and the grave there
was seldom anything more than a single suspender and the
hope of a meal which would at the same time support life
and make it insupportable. He literally picked up a pre-
carious living for himself and an aged mother by " chlorid-
ing the dumps," that is to say, the miners permitted him to

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search the heaps of waste rock for such pieces of " pay
ore " as had been overlooked ; and these he sacked up and
sold at the Syndicate Mill. He became a member of our
firm — " Gunny, Giggles, and Dumps," thenceforth — through
my favor ; for I could not then, nor can I now, be indiffer-
ent to his courage and prowess in defending against Giggles
the immemorial right of his sex to insult a strange and un-
protected female — myself. After old Jim struck it in the
Calamity, and I began to wear shoes and go to school, and
in emulation Giggles took to washing his face, and became
Jack Raynor, of Wells, Fargo & Co., and old Mrs. Barts
was herself chlorided to her fathers. Dumps drifted over to
San Juan Smith and turned stage driver, and was killed
by road agents, and so forth.

Why do I tell you all this, dear? Because it is heavy on
my heart. Because I walk the Valley of Humility. Be-
cause I am subduing myself to permanent consciousness of
my unworthiness to unloose the latchet of Dr. Barritz's shoe.
Because — oh, dear, oh, dear — there's a cousin of Dumps at
this hotel! I haven't spoken to him. I never had any
acquaintance with him, but — do you suppose he has recog-
nized me? Do, please, give me in your next your candid,
sure-enough opinion about it, and say you don't think so.
Do you think He knows about me already and that is why
He left me last evening when He saw that I blushed and
trembled like a fool under His eyes? You know I can't
bribe all the newspapers, and I can't go back on anybody
who was good to Gunny at Redhorse — not if I'm pitched
out of society into the sea. So the skeleton sometimes
rattles behind the door. I never cared much before, as you
know, but now — nozv it is not the same. Jack Raynor I am
sure of — he will not tell him. He seems, indeed, to hold
him in such respect as hardly to dare speak to him at all,
and I'm a good deal that way myself. Dear, dear! I wish
I had something besides a million dollars ! If Jack were
three inches taller I'd marry him alive and go back to Red-
horse and wear sackcloth again to the end of my miserable
days.

loo

Ambrose Bierce

July 25th.

We had a perfectly splendid sunset last evening, and I
must tell you all about it. I ran away from Auntie and
everybody, and was walking alone on the beach. I expect
you to believe, you infidel! that I had not looked out of
my window on the seaward side of the hotel and seen him
walking alone on the beach. If you are not lost to every
feeling of womanly delicacy you will accept my statement
without question. I soon established myself under my sun-
shade and had for some time been gazing out dreamily over
the sea, when he approached, walking close to the edge
of the w^ater — it was ebb tide. I assure you the wet sand
actually brightened about his feet! As he approached me,
he lifted his hat, saying : " Miss Dement, may I sit with
you ? — or will you w^alk with me ? "

The possibility that neither might be agreeable seems not
to have occurred to him. Did you ever know such assur-
ance? Assurance? My dear, it was gall, downright gall\
Well, I didn't find it wormwood, and replied, with my un-
tutored Redhorse heart in my throat : " I — I shall be pleased
to do anything" Could words have been more stupid?
There are depths of fatuity in me, friend o' my soul, which
are simply bottomless !

He extended his hand, smiling, and I delivered mine into
it without a moment's hesitation, and when his fingers
closed about it to assist me to my feet, the consciousness
that it trembled made me blush worse than the red west.
I got up, however, and after a while, observing that he had
not let go my hand, I pulled on it a little, but unsuccess-
fully. He simply held on, saying nothing, but looking
down into my face with some kind of a smile — I didn't
know — how could I ? — whether it was afllectionate, derisive,
or what, for I did not look at him. How beautiful he was !
— with the red fires of the sunset burning in the depths of
his eyes. Do you know, dear, if the Thugs and Experts of
the Blavatsky region have any special kind of eyes? Ah,
you should have seen his superb attitude, the godlike in-
clination of his head as he stood over me after I had got

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American Mystery Stories

upon my feet ! It was a noble picture, but I soon destroyed
it, for I began at once to sink again to the earth. There
was only one thing for him to do, and he did it ; he sup-
ported me with an arm about my waist.

'* Miss Dement, are you ill?" he said.

It was not an exclamation ; there was neither alarm nor
solicitude in it. If he had added: *' I suppose that is about
what I am expected to say," he would hardly have expressed
his sense of the situation more clearly. His manner filled
me with shame and indignation, for I was suffering acutely.
I wrenched my hand out of his, grasped the arm support-
ing me, and, pushing myself free, fell plump into the sand
and sat helpless. IVIy hat had fallen off in the struggle,
and my hair tumbled about my face and shoulders in the
most mortifying way.

" Go away from me," I cried, half choking. " Oh, please
go away, you — you Thug ! How dare you think that when
my leg is asleep ? "

I actually said those identical words ! And then I broke
down and sobbed. Irene, I blubbered !

His manner altered in an instant — I could see that much
through my fingers and hair. He dropped on one knee be-
side me, parted the tangle of hair, and said, in the tenderest
way : " My poor girl, God knows I have not intended to
pain you. How should I ? — I who love you — I who have
loved you for — for years and years ! "

He had pulled my wet hands away from my face and was
covering them with kisses. My cheeks were like two coals,
my whole face was flaming and, I think, steaming. What
could I do? I hid it on his shoulder — there was no other
place. And, oh, my dear friend, how my leg tingled and
thrilled, and how I wanted to kick !

We sat so for a long time. He had released one of my
hands to pass his arm about me again, and I possessed
myself of my handkerchief and was drying my eyes and my
nose. I would not look up until that was done ; he tried
in vain to push me a little away and gaze into my eyes.
Presently, when it was all right, and it had grown a bit

1 02

Ambrose Bicrce

dark, I lifted my head, looked him straight in the eyes, and
smiled my best — my level best, dear.

" What do you mean," I said, " by ' years and years '? "

" Dearest," he replied, very gravely, very earnestly, " in
the absence of the sunken cheeks, the hollow eyes, the lank
hair, the slouching gait, the rags, dirt, and youth, can you
not — will you not understand? Gunny, I'm Dumps!"

In a moment I was upon my feet and he upon his. I
seized him by the lapels of his coat and peered into his
handsome face in the deepening darkness. I was breathless
with excitement.

" And you are not dead ? " I asked, hardly knowing what
I said.

" Only dead in love, dear. I recovered from the road
agent's bullet, but this, I fear, is fatal."

"But about Jack — Mr. Raynor? Don't you know- "

" I am ashamed to say, darling, that it was through that
unworthy person's invitation that I came here from Vienna."

Irene, they have played it upon your afifectionate friend,

Mary Jane Dement.

P.S. — The worst of it is that there is no mystery. That
was an invention of Jack to arouse my curiosity and inter-
est. James is not a Thug. He solemnly assures me that in
all his wanderings he has never set foot in Sepoy.

The Man and the Snake
I

It is of veritabyll report, and attested of so many that there be
nowe of wyse and learned none to gaynsaye it, that ye serpente hys
eye hath a magnetick propertie that whosoe falleth into its svasion
is drawn forwards in despyte of his wille, and perisheth miserabyll
by ye creature hys byte.

Stretched at ease upon a sofa, in gown and slippers,
Harker Brayton smiled as he read the foregoing sentence

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American Mystery Stories

in old Morryster's " Marvells of Science." " The only
marvel in the matter," he said to himself, " is that the
wise and learned in Morryster's day should have believed
such nonsense as is rejected by most of even the ignorant
in ours."

A train of reflections followed — for Brayton was a man
of thought — and he unconsciously lowered his book with-
out altering the direction of his eyes. As soon as the vol-
ume had gone below the line of sight, something in an
obscure corner of the room recalled his attention to his
surroundings. What he saw, in the shadow under his bed,
were two small points of light, apparently about an inch
apart. They might have been reflections of the gas jet
above him, in metal nail heads ; he gave them but little
thought and resumed his reading, A moment later some-
thing— some impulse which it did not occur to him to
analyze — impelled him to lower the book again and seek for
what he saw before. The points of light were still there.
They seemed to have become brighter than before, shining
with a greenish luster which he had not at first observed.
He thought, too, that they might have moved a trifle — were
somewhat nearer. They were still too much in the shadow,
however, to reveal their nature and origin to an indolent
attention, and he resumed his reading. Suddenly something
in the text suggested a thought which made him start and
drop the book for the third time to the side of the sofa,
whence, escaping from his hand, it fell sprawling to the
floor, back upward. Brayton, half-risen, was staring in-
tently into the obscurity beneath the bed, where the points
of light shone with, it seemed to him, an added fire. His
attention was now fully aroused, his gaze eager and im-
perative. It disclosed, almost directly beneath the foot rail
of the bed, the coils of a large serpent — the points of light
were its eyes ! Its horrible head, thrust flatly forth from the
innermost coil and resting upon the outermost, was directed
straight toward him, the definition of the wide, brutal jaw
and the idiotlike forehead serving to show the direction of
its malevolent gaze. The eyes were no longer merely lumi-

104

Ambrose Bierce

nous points ; they looked into his own with a meaning, a
malign significance.

II

A SNAKE in a bedroom of a modern city dwelling of the
better sort is, happily, not so common a phenomenon as to
make explanation altogether needless. Marker Brayton, a
bachelor of thirty-five, a scholar, idler, and something of an
athlete, rich, popular, and of sound health, had returned to
San Francisco from all manner of remote and unfamiliar
countries. His tastes, always a trifle luxurious, had taken
on an added exuberance from long privation ; and the re-
sources of even the Castle Hotel being inadequate for their
perfect gratification, he had gladly accepted the hospitality
of his friend. Dr. Druring, the distinguished scientist. Dr.
Druring's house, a large, old-fashioned one in what was
now an obscure quarter of the city, had an outer and visible
aspect of reserve. It plainly would not associate with the
contiguous elements of its altered environment, and ap-
peared to have developed some of the eccentricities which
come of isolation. One of these was a '* wing," conspicu-
ously irrelevant in point of architecture, and no less rebel-
lious in the matter of purpose; for it was a combination
of laboratory, menagerie, and museum. It was here that
the doctor indulged the scientific side of his nature in the
study of such forms of animal life as engaged his interest
and comforted his taste — which, it must be confessed, ran
rather to the lower forms. For one of the higher types
nimbly and sweetly to recommend itself unto his gentle
senses, it had at least to retain certain rudimentary charac-
teristics allying it to such " dragons of the prime " as toads
and snakes. His scientific sympathies were distinctly rep-
tilian; he loved nature's vulgarians and described himself
as the Zola of zoology. His wife and daughters, not having
the advantage to share his enlightened curiosity regarding
the works and ways of our ill-starred fellow-creatures, were,
v/ith needless austerity, excluded from what he called the

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American Mystery Stories

Snakery, and doomed to companionship with their own
kind ; though, to soften the rigors of their lot, he had per-
mitted them, out of his great wealth, to outdo the reptiles
in the gorgeousness of their surroundings and to shine with
a superior splendor.

Architecturally, and in point of " furnishing," the Snakery
had a severe simplicity befitting the humble circumstances
of its occupants, many of whom, indeed, could not safely
have been intrusted with the liberty which is necessary to
the full enjoyment of luxury, for they had the troublesome
peculiarity of being alive. In their own apartments, how-
ever, they were under as little personal restraint as was
compatible with their protection from the baneful habit of
swallowing one another ; and, as Brayton had thoughtfully
been apprised, it was more than a tradition that some of
them had at divers times been found in parts of the premises
where it would have embarrassed them to explain their
presence. Despite the Snakery and its uncanny associa-
tions— ^to which, indeed, he gave little attention — Brayton
found life at the Druring mansion very much to his mind.

Ill

Beyond a smart shock of surprise and a shudder of mere
loathing, Mr. Brayton was not greatly affected. His first
thought was to ring the call bell and bring a servant ; but,
although the bell cord dangled within easy reach, he made
no movement toward it ; it had occurred to his mind that
the act might subject him to the suspicion of fear, which
he certainly did not feel. He was more keenly conscious
of the incongruous nature of the situation than affected by
its perils ; it was revolting, but absurd.

The reptile was of a species with which Brayton was un-
familiar. Its length he could only conjecture ; the body at
the largest visible part seemed about as thick as his fore-
arm. In what way was it dangerous, if in any way? Was
it venomous? Was it a constrictor? His knowledge of

1 06

Ambrose Bicrce

nature's danger signals did not enable him to say; he had
never deciphered the code.

If not dangerous, the creature was at least offensive. It
was de trop — " matter out of place " — an impertinence.
The gem was unworthy of the setting. Even the barbarous
taste of our time and country, which had loaded the walls
of the room with pictures, the floor with furniture, and
the furniture with bric-a-brac, had not quite fitted the
place for this bit of the savage life of the jungle. Be-
sides — insupportable thought ! — the exhalations of its
breath mingled with the atmosphere which he himself was
breathing!

These thoughts shaped themselves with greater or less
definition in Brayton's mind, and begot action. The process
is what we call consideration and decision. It is thus that
we are wise and unwise. It is thus that the withered leaf
in an autumn breeze shows greater or less intelligence than
its fellows, falling upon the land or upon the lake. The
secret of human action is an open one — something contracts
our muscles. Does it matter if we give to the preparatory
molecular changes the name of will ?

Brayton rose to his feet and prepared to back softly away
from the snake, without disturbing it, if possible, and
through the door. People retire so from the presence of
the great, for greatness is power, and power is a menace.
He knew that he could walk backward without obstruction,
and find the door without error. Should the monster fol-
low, the taste which had plastered the walls with paintings
had consistently supplied a rack of murderous Oriental
weapons from which he could snatch one to suit the occa-
sion. In the meantime the snake's eyes burned with a more
pitiless malevolence than ever.

Brayton lifted his right foot free of the floor to step
backward. That moment he felt a strong aversion to
doing so.

" I am accounted brave," he murmured ; " is bravery,
then, no more than pride ? Because there are none to wit-
ness the shame shall I retreat ? "

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American Mystery Stories

He was steadying himself with his right hand upon the
back of a chair, his foot suspended,

" Nonsense ! " he said aloud ; " I am not so great a cow-
ard as to fear to seem to myself afraid."

He lifted the foot a little higher by slightly bending the
knee, and thrust it sharply to the floor — an inch in front of
the other ! He could not think how that occurred. A trial
with the left foot had the same result ; it was again in ad-
vance of the right. The hand upon the chair back was
grasping it ; the arm was straight, reaching somewhat back-
ward. One might have seen that he was reluctant to lose
his hold. The snake's malignant head was still thrust forth
from the inner coil as before, the neck level. It had not
moved, but its eyes were now electric sparks, radiating an
infinity of luminous needles.

The man had an ashy pallor. Again he took a step for-
ward, and another, partly dragging the chair, which, when
finally released, fell upon the floor with a crash. The man
groaned ; the snake made neither sound nor motion, but its
eyes were two dazzling suns. The reptile itself was wholly
concealed by them. They gave ofif enlarging rings of rich
and vivid colors, which at their greatest expansion succes-
sively vanished like soap bubbles ; they seemed to approach
his very face, and anon were an immeasurable distance
away. He heard, somewhere, the continual throbbing of a
great drum, with desultory bursts of far music, inconceiv-
ably sweet, like the tones of an seolian harp. He knew it
for the sunrise melody of Memnon's statue, and thought he
stood in the Nileside reeds, hearing, with exalted sense,
that immortal anthem through the silence of the cen-
turies.

The music ceased ; rather, it became by insensible degrees
the distant roll of a retreating thunderstorm. A landscape,
glittering with sun and rain, stretched before him, arched
with a vivid rainbow, framing in its giant curve a hundred
visible cities. In the middle distance a vast serpent, wear-
ing a crown, reared its head out of its voluminous convo-
lutions and looked at him with his dead mother's eyes.

io8

Ambrose Bierce

Suddenly this enchanting landscape seemed to rise swiftly
upward, like the drop scene at a theater, and vanished in
a blank. Something struck him a hard blow upon the face
and breast. He had fallen to the floor ; the blood ran from
his broken nose and his bruised lips. For a moment he was
dazed and stunned, and lay with closed eyes, his face against
the door. In a few moments he had recovered, and then
realized that his fall, by withdrawing his eyes, had broken
the spell which held him. He felt that now, by keeping his
gaze averted, he would be able to retreat. But the tlK)ught
of the serpent within a few feet of his head, yet unseen —
perhaps in the very act of springing upon him and throw-
ing its coils about his throat — was too horrible. He lifted
his head, stared again into those baleful eyes, and was again
in bondage.

The snake had not moved, and appeared somewhat to
have lost its power upon the imagination ; the gorgeous
illusions of a few moments before were not repeated. Be-
neath that flat and brainless brow its black, beady eyes
simply glittered, as at first, with an expression unspeakably
malignant. It was as if the creature, knowing its tri-
umph assured, had determined to practice no more allur-
ing wiles.

Now ensued a fearful scene. The man, prone upon the
floor, within a yard of his enemy, raised the upper part of
his body upon his elbows, his head thrown back, his legs
extended to their full length. His face was white between
its gouts of blood ; his eyes were strained open to their
uttermost expansion. There was froth upon his lips ; it
dropped off in flakes. Strong convulsions ran through his
body, making almost serpentine undulations. He bent him-
self at the waist, shifting his legs from side to side. And
every movement left him a little nearer to the snake. He
thrust his hands forward to brace himself back, yet con-
stantly advanced upon his elbows.

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American Mystery Stories

IV

Dr. Druring and his wife sat in the library. The sci-
entist was in rare good humor.

" I have just obtained, by exchange with another col-
lector," he saidj " a splendid specimen of the Ophiophagus."

" And what may that be ? " the lady inquired with a
somewhat languid interest.

"Why, bless my soul, what profound ignorance! jMy
dear, a man who ascertains after marriage that his wife
does not know Greek, is entitled to a divorce. The Ophio-
phagus is a snake which eats other snakes."

" I hope it will eat all yours," she said, absently shifting
the lamp. "But how does it get the other snakes? By
charming them, I suppose."

" That is just like you, dear," said the doctor, with an
affectation of petulance. " You know how irritating to me
is any allusion to that vulgar superstition about the snake's
power of fascination."

The conversation was interrupted by a mighty cry which
rang through the silent house like the voice of a demon
shouting in a tomb. Again and yet again it sounded, with
terrible distinctness. They sprang to their feet, the man
confused, the lady pale and speechless with fright. Almost
before the echoes of the last cry had died away the doctor
was out of the room, springing up the staircase two steps
at a time. In the corridor, in front of Brayton's chamber,
he met some servants who had come from the upper floor.
Together they rushed at the door without knocking. It
was unfastened, and gave way. Brayton lay upon his stom-
ach on the floor, dead. His head and arms were partly
concealed under the foot rail of the bed. They pulled the
body away, turning it upon the back. The face was daubed
with blood and froth, the eyes were wide open, staring — a
dreadful sight !

" Died in a fit," said the scientist, bending his knee and
placing his hand upon the heart. While in that position he

no

Ambrose Bierce

happened to glance under the bed. " Good God ! " he
added ; " how did this thing get in here ? "

He reached under the bed, pulled out the snake, and flung
it, still coiled, to the center of the room, whence, with a
harsh, shuffling sound, it slid across the polished floor till
stopped by the wall, where it lay without motion. It was
a stuffed snake; its eyes were two shoe buttons.
From " Tales of Soldiers and Civilians," by Ambrose

Bierce. Copyright, i8pi, by E. L. G. Steele.

Ill

Edgar Allan Poe
The Oblong Box

COME years ago, I engaged passage from Charleston,
S. C, to the city of New York, in the fine packet ship
" Independence," Captain Hardy. We were to sail on the
fifteenth of the month (June), weather permitting; and on
the fourteenth, I went on board to arrange some matters
in my stateroom.

I found that we were to have a great many passengers,
including a more than usual number of ladies. On the list
were several of my acquaintances; and among other names,
I was rejoiced to see that of Mr. Cornelius Wyatt, a young
artist, for whom I entertained feelings of warm friendship.

He had been with me a fellow student at C University,

where we were very much together. He had the ordinary
temperament of genius, and was a compound of misan-
thropy, sensibility, and enthusiasm. To these qualities he
united the warmest and truest heart which ever beat in a
human bosom.

I observed that his name was carded upon three state-
rooms: and, upon again referring to the list of passengers,
I found that he had engaged passage for himself, wife, and
two sisters — his own. The staterooms were sufficiently
roomy, and each had two berths, one above the other.
These berths, to be sure, were so exceedingly narrow as
to be insufficient for more than one person; still, I could
not comprehend why there were three staterooms for these
four persons. I was, just at that epoch, in one of those
moody frames of mind which make a man abnormally in-
quisitive about trifles: and I confess, with shame, that I
busied myself in a variety of ill-bred and preposterous con-
jectures about this matter of the supernumerary stateroom.

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Edgar Allan Poe

It was no business of mine, to be «:ure; but with none the
less pertinacity did I occupy myself in attempts to resolve
the enigma. At last I reached a conclusion which wrought
in me great wonder why I had not arrived at it before.
"It is a servant, of course," I said; "what a fool I am,
not sooner to have thought of so obvious a solution! " And
then I again repaired to the list — but here I saw distinctly
that no servant was to come with the party: although, in
fact, it had been the original design to bring one — for the
words " and servant " had been first written and then over-
scored. " Oh, extra baggage, to be sure," I now safd to
myself — " something he wishes not to be put in the hold
— something to be kept under his own eye — ah, I have it
— a painting or so — and this is what he has been bargain-
ing about with Nicolino, the Italian Jew." This idea sat-
isfied me, and I dismissed my curiosity for the nonce.

Wyatt's two sisters I knew very well, and most amiable
and clever girls they were. His wife he had newly married,
and I had never yet seen her. He had often talked about
her in my presence, however, and in his usual style of
enthusiasm. He described her as of surpassing beauty, wit,
and accomplishment. I was, therefore, quite anxious to
make her acquaintance.

On the day in which I visited the ship (the fourteenth),
Wyatt and party were also to visit it — so the captain in-
formed me, — and I waited on board an hour longer than
I had designed, in hope of being presented to the bride; but
then an apology came. " Mrs. W. was a little indisposed,
and would decline coming on board until to-morrow, at the
hour of sailing."

The morrow having arrived, I was going from my hotel
to the wharf, when Captain Hardy met me and said that,
" owing to circumstances " (a stupid but convenient phrase),
" he rather thought the ' Independence ' would not sail for
a day or two, and that when all was ready, he would send
up and let me know." This I thought strange, for there
was a stiff southerly breeze; but as "the circumstances"
were not forthcoming, akhough I pumped for them with

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much perseverance, I had nothing to do but to return home
and digest my impatience at leisure.

I did not receive the expected message from the captain
for nearly a week. It came at length, however, and I im-
mediately went on board. The ship was crowded with pas-
sengers, and everything was in a bustle attendant upon
making sail. Wyatt's party arrived in about ten minutes
after myself. There were the two sisters, the bride, and the
artist — the latter in one of his customary fits of moody
misanthropy. I was too well used to these, however, to pay
them any special attention. He did not even introduce me
to his wife; — this courtesy devolving, perforce, upon his
sister Marian — a very sweet and intelligent girl, who, in a
few hurried words, made us acquainted.

Mrs. Wyatt had been closely veiled; and when she raised
her veil, in acknowledging my bow, I confess that I was
very profoundly astonished. I should have been much more
so, however, had not long experience advised me not to
trust, with too implicit a reliance, the enthusiastic descrip-
tions of my friend, the artist, when indulging in comments
upon the loveliness of woman. When beauty was the
theme, I well knew with what facility he soared into the
regions of the purely ideal.

The truth is, I could not help regarding Mrs. Wyatt as
a decidedly plain-looking woman. If not positively ugly,
she was not, I think, very far from it. She was dressed,
however, in exquisite taste — and then I had no doubt that
she had captivated my friend's heart by the more endur-
ing graces of the intellect and soul. She said very few
words, and passed at once into her stateroom with Mr. W.

My old inquisitiveness now returned. There was no ser-
vant— that was a settled point. I looked, therefore, for the
extra baggage. After some delay, a cart arrived at the
wharf, with an oblong pine box, which was everything that
seemed to be expected. Immediately upon its arrival we
made sail, and in a short time were safely over the bar and
standing out to sea.

, The box in question was, as I say, oblong. It was about

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Edgar Allan Pee

six feet in length by two and a half in breadth ; — I observed
it attentively, and like to be precise. Now this shape was
peculiar; and no sooner had I seen it, than I took credit to
myself for the accuracy of my guessing, I had reached the
conclusion, it will be remembered, that the extra baggage
of my friend, the artist, would prove to be pictures, or at
least a picture; for I knew he had been for several weeks
in conference with Nicolino: — and now here was a box,
which, from its shape, could possibly contain nothing in the
world but a copy of Leonardo's " Last Supper " ; and a
copy of this very " Last Supper," done by Rubini the
younger, at Florence, I had known, for some time, to be
in the possession of Nicolino. This point, therefore, I con-
sidered as sufficiently settled. I chuckled excessively when
I thought of my acumen. It was the first time I had ever
known Wyatt to keep from me any of his artistical secrets;
but here he evidently intended to steal a march upon me,
and smuggle a fine picture to New York, under my very
nose; expecting me to know nothing of the matter. I re-
solved to quiz him well, now and hereafter.

One thing, however, annoyed me not a little. The box
did not go into the extra stateroom. It was deposited in
Wyatt's own; and there, too, it remained, occupying very
nearly the whole of the floor — no doubt to the exceeding
discomfort of the artist and his wife; — this the more espe-
cially as the tar or paint with which it was lettered in
sprawling capitals, emitted a strong, disagreeable, and to
my fancy, a peculiarly disgusting odor. On the lid were
painted the words — "Mrs. Adelaide Curtis. Albany, New
York. Charge of Cornelius Wyatt, Esq. This side up. To
be handled with care."

Now, I was aware that Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, of Albany,
was the artist's wife's mother; — but then I looked upon the
whole address as a mystification, intended especially for
myself. I made up my mind, of course, that the box and
contents would never get farther north than the studio
of my misanthropic friend, in Chambers Street, New York.

For the first three or four days we had fine weather,

"5

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although the wind was dead ahead; having- chopped round
to the northward, immediately upon our losing sight of
the coast. The passengers were, consequently, in high
spirits and disposed to be social. I must except, however,
Wyatt and his sisters, who behaved stiffly, and, I could not
help thinking, uncourteously to the rest of the party.
Wyatfs conduct I did not so much regard. He was
gloomy, even beyond his usual habit — in fact he was mo-
rose— but in him I was prepared for eccentricity. For the
sisters, however, I could make no excuse. They secluded
themselves in their staterooms during the greater part of
the passage, and absolutely refused, although I repeatedly
urged them, to hold communication with any person on
board.

Mrs. Wyatt herself was far more agreeable. That is to
say, she was chatty; and to be chatty is no slight recom-
mendation at sea. She became excessively intimate with
most of the ladies; and, to my profound astonishment,
evinced no equivocal disposition to coquet with the men.
She amused us all very much. I say " amused " — and
scarcely know how to explain myself. The truth is, I soon
found that Mrs. W. was far oftener laughed at than zvith.
The gentlemen said little about her; but the ladies, in a
little while, pronounced her " a good-hearted thing, rather
indifferent-looking, totally uneducated, and decidedly vul-
gar." The great wonder was, how Wyatt had been en-
trapped into such a match. Wealth was the general solu-
tion— but this I knew to be no solution at all ; for Wyatt
had told me that she neither brought him a dollar nor had
any expectations from any source whatever. " He had
married," he said, "for love, and for love only; and his
bride was far more than worthy of his love." When I
thought of these expressions, on the part of my friend,
I confess that I felt indescribably puzzled. Could it be
possible that he was taking leave of his senses? What else
could I think? He, so refined, so intellectual, so fastidious,
with so exquisite a perception of the faulty, and so keen
an appreciation of the beautiful! To be sure, the lady

ii6

Edmr Allan Poe

*i>

seemed especially fond of him — particularly so in his absence
— when she made herself ridiculous by frequent quotations
of what had been said by her " beloved husband, Mr. Wy-
att." The word " husband " seemed forever — to use one
of her own delicate expressions — forever " on the tip of her
tongue." In the meantime, it was observed by all on board,
that he avoided her in the most pointed manner, and, for
the most part, shut himself up alone in his stateroom, where,
in fact, he might have been said to live altogether, leaving
his wife at full liberty to amuse herself as she thought best,
in the public society of the main cabin.

My conclusion, from what I saw and heard, was, that the
artist, by some unaccountable freak of fate, or perhaps in
some fit of enthusiastic and fanciful passion, had been in-
duced to unite himself with a person altogether beneath
him, and that the natural result, entire and speedy disgust,
had ensued. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart — but
could not, for that reason, quite forgive his incommuni-
cativeness in the matter of the " Last Supper." For this I
resolved to have my revenge.

One day he came upon deck, and, taking his arm as had
been my wont, I sauntered with him backward and for-
ward. His gloom, however (which I considered quite natu-
ral under any circumstances), seemed entirely unabated.
He said little, and that moodily, and with evident efifort. I
ventured a jest or two, and he made a sickening attempt at
a smile. Poor fellow ! — as I thought of his wife, I wondered
that he could have heart to put on even the semblance of
mirth. At last I ventured a home thrust. I determined to
commence a series of covert insinuations, or innuendoes,
about the oblong box — just to let him perceive, gradually,
that I was not altogether the butt, or victim, of his little
bit of pleasant mystification. My first observation was by
way of opening a masked battery. I said something about
the " peculiar shape of that box "; and, as I spoke the words,
I smiled knowingly, winked, and touched him gently with
my forefinger in the ribs.

The manner in which Wyatt received this harmless pleas-

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antry convinced me, at once, that he was mad. At first he
stared at me as if he found it impossible to comprehend
the witticism of my remark; but as its point seemed slowly
to make its way into his brain, his eyes, in the same pro-
portion, seemed protruding from their sockets. Then he
grew very red — then hideously pale — then, as if highly
anmsed with what I had insinuated, he began a loud and
boisterous laugh, which, to my astonishment, he kept up,
with gradually increasing vigor, for ten minutes or more.
In conclusion, he fell flat and heavily upon the deck. When
I ran to uplift him, to all appearance he was dead.

I called assistance, and, with much difficulty, we brought
him to himself. Upon reviving he spoke incoherently for
some time. At length we bled him and put him to bed.
The next morning he was quite recovered, so far as re-
garded his mere bodily health. Of his mind I say nothing,
of course. I avoided him during the rest of the passage,
by advice of the captain, who seemed to coincide with me
altogether in my views of his insanity, but cautioned me to
say nothing on this head to any person on board.

Several circumstances occurred immediately after this fit
of Wyatt's which contributed to heighten the curiosity with
which I was already possessed. Among other things, this:
I had been nervous — drank too much strong green tea, and
slept ill at night — in fact, for two nights I could not be
properly said to sleep at all. Now, my stateroom opened
into the main cabin, or dining-room, as did those of all the
single men on board. Wyatt's three rooms were in the
after-cabin, which was separated from the main one by a
slight sliding door, never locked even at night. As we
were almost constantly on a wind, and the breeze was not
a little stiff, the ship heeled to leeward very considerably;
and whenever her starboard side was to leeward, the sliding
door between the cabins slid open, and so remained, no-
body taking the trouble to get up and shut it. But my
berth was in such a position, that when my own stateroom
door was open, as well as the sliding door in question, (and
my own door was ahvays open on account of the heat,) I

ii8

Edgar Allan Poe

could see into the after-cabin quite distinctly, and just at
that portion of it, too, where were situated the staterooms
of Mr. Wyatt. Well, during two nights (not consecutive)
while I lay awake, I clearly saw Mrs. W., about eleven
o'clock upon each night, steal cautiously from the state-
room of Mr. W., and enter the extra room, where she re-
mained until daybreak, when she was called by her husband
and went back. That they were virtually separated was
clear. They had separate apartments — no doubt in contem-
plation of a more permanent divorce; and here, after all,
I thought was the mystery of the extra stateroom.

There was another circumstance, too, which interested me
much. During the two wakeful nights in question, and
immediately after the disappearance of Mrs. Wyatt into the
extra stateroom, I was attracted by certain singular, cau-
tious, subdued noises in that of her husband. After listen-
ing to them for some time, with thoughtful attention, I at
length succeeded perfectly in translating their import.
They were sounds occasioned by the artist in prying
open the oblong box, by means of a chisel and mallet —
the latter being apparently muffled, or deadened, by some
soft woolen or cotton substance in which its head was
enveloped.

In this manner I fancied I could distinguish the precise
moment when he fairly disengaged the lid — also, that I
could determine when he removed it altogether, and when
he deposited it upon the lower berth in his room; this latter
point I knew, for example, by certain slight taps which
the lid made in striking against the wooden edges of the
berth, as he endeavored to lay it down very gently — there
being no room for it on the floor. After this there was a
dead stillness, and I heard nothing more, upon either occa-
sion, until nearly daybreak; unless, perhaps, I may men-
tion a low sobbing, or murmuring sound, so very much
suppressed as to be nearly inaudible — if, indeed, the whole
of this latter noise were not rather produced by my own
imagination. I say it seemed to resemble sobbing or sigh-
ing— but, of course, it could not have been either. I rather

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think it was a ringing in my own ears. Mr. Wyatt, no
doubt, according to custom, was merely giving the rein
to one of his hobbies — indulging in one of his fits of artistic
enthusiasm. He had opened his oblong box, in order to
feast his eyes on the pictorial treasure within. There was
nothing in this, however, to make him sob. I repeat, there-
fore, that it must have been simply a freak of my own
fancy, distempered by good Captain Hardy's green tea.
Just before dawn, on each of the two nights of which I
speak, I distinctly heard Mr. Wyatt replace the lid upon
the oblong box, and force the nails into their old places
by means of the muffled mallet. Having done this, he
issued from his stateroom, fully dressed, and proceeded to
call Mrs. W. from hers.

We had been at sea seven days, and were now off Cape
Hatteras, when there came a tremendously heavy blow from
the southwest. We were, in a measure, prepared for it,
however, as the weather had been holding out threats for
some time. Everything was made snug, alow and aloft;
and as the wind steadily freshened, we lay to, at length,
under spanker and foretopsail, both double-reefed.

In this trim we rode safely enough for forty-eight hours
— the ship proving herself an excellent sea boat in many
respects, and shipping no water of any consequence. At
the end of this period, however, the gale had freshened
into a hurricane, and our after-sail split into ribbons, bring-
ing us so much in the trough of the water that we shipped
several prodigious seas, one immediately after the other.
By this accident we lost three men overboard with the
caboose, and nearly the whole of the larboard bulwarks.
Scarcely had we recovered our senses, before the foretop-
sail went into shreds, when we got up a storm staysail, and
with this did pretty well for some hours, the ship heading
the sea much more steadily than before.

The gale still held on, however, and we saw no signs of
its abating. The rigging was found to be ill-fitted, and
greatly strained ; and on the third day of the blow, about
five in the afternoon, our mizzenmast, in a heavy lurch to

1 20

Edmr Allan Poe

"ii

windward, went by the board. For an hour or more, we
tried in vain to get rid of it, on account of the prodigious
rolHng of the ship; and, before we had succeeded, the car-
penter came aft and announced four feet water in the hold.
To add to our dilemma, we found the pumps choked and
nearly useless.

All was now confusion and despair — but an effort was
made to lighten the ship by throwing overboard as much
of her cargo as could be reached, and by cutting away the
two masts that remained. This we at last accomplished —
but we were still unable to do anything at the pumps: and,
in the meantime, the leak gained on us very fast.

At sundown, the gale had sensibly diminished in vio-
lence, and, as the sea went down with it, we still enter-
tained faint hopes of saving ourselves in the boats. At
eight P. M., the clouds broke away to windward, and we
had the advantage of a full moon — a piece of good for-
tune which served wonderfully to cheer our drooping
spirits.

After incredible labor we succeeded, at length, in getting
the longboat over the side without material accident, and
into this we crowded the whole of the crew and most of the
passengers. This party made off immediately, and, after
undergoing much suffering, finally arrived, in safety, at
Ocracoke Inlet, on the third day after the wreck.

Fourteen passengers, with the captain, remained on
board, resolving to trust their fortunes to the jolly-boat at
the stern. We lowered it without difficulty, although it
was only by a miracle that we prevented it from swamping
as it touched the water. It contained, when afloat, the cap-
tain and his wife, Mr. Wyatt and party, a Mexican officer,
wife, four children, and myself, with a negro valet.

We had no room, of course, for anything except a few
positively necessary instruments, some provisions, and the
clothes upon our backs. No one had thought of even at-
tempting to save anything more. What must have been the
astonishment of all, then, when, having proceeded a few
fathoms from the ship, Mr. Wyatt stood up in the stern

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sheets, and coolly demanded of Captain Hardy that the boat
should be put back for the purpose of taking in his oblong
box!

" Sit down, Mr, Wyatt," replied the captain, somewhat
sternly, " you will capsize us if you do not sit quite still.
Our gunwale is almost in the water now."

" The box! " vociferated Mr. Wyatt, still standing — " the
box, I say ! Captain Hardy, you cannot, you will not refuse
me. Its weight will be but a trifle — it is nothing — mere
nothing. By the mother who bore you — for the love of
Heaven — by your hope of salvation, I implore you to put
back for the box! "

The captain, for a moment, seemed touched by the ear-
nest appeal of the artist, but he regained his stern com-
posure, and merely said:

" Mr. Wyatt, you are mad. I cannot listen to you. Sit
down, I say, or you will swamp the boat. Stay — hold him
— seize him! — he is about to spring overboard! There — I
knew it — he is over! "

As the captain said this, Mr. Wyatt, in fact, sprang from
the boat, and, as we were yet in the lee of the wreck, suc-
ceeded, by almost superhuman exertion, in getting hold
of a rope which hung from the fore-chains. In another mo-
ment he was on board, and rushing frantically down into
the cabin.

In the meantime, we had been swept astern of the ship,
and being quite out of her lee, were at the mercy of the
tremendous sea which was still running. We made a deter-
mined effort to put back, but our little boat was like a
feather in the breath of the tempest. We saw at a glance
that the doom of the unfortunate artist was sealed.

As our distance from the wreck rapidly increased, the
madman (for as such only could we regard him) was seen
to emerge from the companion-way, up which by dint of
strength that appeared gigantic, he dragged, bodily, the
oblong box. While we gazed in the extremity of astonish-
ment, he passed, rapidly, several turns of a three-inch rope,
first around the box and then around his body. In another

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*i.

instant both body and box were in the sea — disappearing
suddenly, at once and forever.

We lingered awhile sadly upon our oars, with our eyes
riveted upon the spot. At length we pulled away. The
silence remained unbroken for an hour. Finally, I hazarded
a remark.

" Did you observe, captain, how suddenly they sank?
Was not that an exceedingly singular thing? I confess that
I entertained some feeble hope of his final deliverance, when
I saw him lash himself to the box, and commit himself to
the sea."

" They sank as a matter of course," replied the captain,
*' and that like a shot. They will soon rise again, however
— but not till the salt melts."

"The salt!" I ejaculated.

" Hush! " said the captain, pointing to the wife and sis-
ters of the deceased. " We must talk of these things at
some more appropriate time."

We suflfered much, and made a narrow escape; but for-
tune befriended us, as well as our mates in the longboat.
We landed, in fine, more dead than alive, after four days
of intense distress, upon the beach opposite Roanoke Is-
land. We remained here a week, were not ill-treated by
the wreckers, and at length obtained a passage to New
York.

About a month after the loss of the " Independence," I
happened to meet Captain Hardy in Broadway. Our con-
versation turned, naturally, upon the disaster, and especially
upon the sad fate of poor Wyatt. I thus learned the fol-
lowing particulars :

The artist had engaged passage for himself, wife, two
sisters and a servant. His wife was, indeed, as she had
been represented, a most lovely, and most accomplished
woman. On the morning of the fourteenth of June (the
day in which I first visited the ship), the lady suddenly sick-
ened and died. The young husband was frantic with grief
— but circumstances imperatively forbade the deferring his

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voyage to New York. It was necessary to take to her
mother the corpse of his adored wife, and, on the other
hand, the universal prejudice which would prevent his do-
ing so openly was well known. Nine tenths of the passen-
gers would have abandoned the ship rather than take pas-
sage with a dead body.

In this dilemma, Captain Hardy arranged that the corpse,
being first partially embalmed, and packed, with a large
quantity of salt, in a box of suitable dimensions, should be
conveyed on board as merchandise. Nothing was to be
said of the lady's decease; and, as it was well understood
that Mr. Wyatt had engaged passage for his wife, it became
necessary that some person should personate her during
the voyage. This the deceased lady's-maid was easily pre-
vailed on to do. The extra stateroom, originally engaged
for this girl, during her mistress' life, was now merely re-
tained. In this stateroom the pseudo wife slept, of course,
every night. In the daytime she performed, to the best of
her ability, the part of her mistress — whose person, it had
been carefully ascertained, was unknown to any of the pas-
sengers on board.

My own mistake arose, naturally enough, through too
careless, too inquisitive, and too impulsive a temperament.
But of late, it is a rare thing that I sleep soundly at night.
There is a countenance which haunts me, turn as I will.
There is an hysterical laugh which will forever ring within
my ears.

T/ie Gold-Bug

What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.

— All in the Wrong.

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr.
William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot fam-
ily, and had once been wealthy: but a series of misfor-

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Edzar Allan Poc

"&>

tunes had reduced him to want. To avoid the mortifica-
tion consequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans,
the city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at
Sullivan's Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.

This island is a very singular one. It consists of little
else than the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its
breadth at no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is sepa-
rated from the mainland by a scarcely perceptible creek,
oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds and slime, a
favorite resort of the marsh hen. The vegetation, as might
be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any
magnitude are to be seen. Near the western extremity,
where Fort Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable
frame buildings, tenanted, during summer, by the fugitives
from Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed, the
bristly palmetto ; but the whole island, with the exception
of this western point, and a line of hard, white beach on
the seacoast, is covered with a dense undergrowth of the
sweet myrtle so much prized by the horticulturists of Eng-
land. The shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or
twenty feet, and forms an almost impenetrable coppice,
burdening the air with its fragrance.

In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the
eastern or more remote end of the island, Legrand had
built himself a small hut, which he occupied when I first, by
mere accident, made his acquaintance. This soon ripened
into friendship — for there was much in the recluse to ex-
cite interest and esteem. I found him well educated, with
unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy,
and subject to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and
melancholy. He had with him many books, but rarely em-
ployed them. His chief amusements were gunning and
fishing, or sauntering along the beach and through the myr-
tles, in quest of shells or entomological specimens — his col-
lection of the latter might have been envied by a Swammer-
damm. In these excursions he was usually accompanied
by an old negro, called Jupiter, who had been manumitted
before the reverses of the family, but who could be induced,

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neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what he con-
sidered his right of attendance upon the footsteps of his
young " Massa Will." It is not improbable that the relatives
of Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in
intellect, had contrived to instill this obstinacy into Jupiter,
with a view to the supervision and guardianship of the
wanderer.

The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are sel-
dom very severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare
event indeed when a fire is considered necessary. About
the middle of October, i8 — , there occurred, however, a day
of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset I scrambled
my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend,
whom I had not visited for several weeks — my residence
being, at that time, in Charleston, a distance of nine miles
from the island, while the facilities of passage and repas-
sage were very far behind those of the present day. Upon
reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and getting
no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted,
unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire was blazing
upon the hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an
ungrateful one. I threw off an overcoat, took an armchair
by the crackling logs, and awaited patiently the arrival of
my hosts.

Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial
w^elcome. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about
to prepare some marsh hens for supper. Legrand was in
one of his fits — how else shall I term them? — of enthusiasm.
He had found an unknown bivalve, forming a new genus,
and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with
Jupiter's assistance, a scarahmis which he believed to be
totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my
opinion on the morrow.

" And why not to-night ? " I asked, rubbing my hands
over the blaze, and wishing the whole tribe of scarabcei at
the devil.

" Ah, if I had only known you were here ! " said Le-
grand, " but it's so long since I saw you ; and how could I

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Edgar Allan Poc

foresee that you would pay me a visit this very night of

all others ? As I was coming home I met Lieutenant G ,

from the fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the bug; so
it will be impossible for you to see it until the morning.
Stay here to-night, and I will send Jup down for it at sun-
rise. It is the loveliest thing in creation ! "

"What?— sunrise?"

" Nonsense ! no ! — the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color
— about the size of a large hickory nut — with two jet black
spots near one extremity of the back, and another, some-
what longer, at the other. The antennae are "

" Dey ain't no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin'
on you," here interrupted Jupiter ; " de bug is a goole-bug,
solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing — nebcr
feel half so hebby a bug in my life."

" Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat
more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded;
" is that any reason for your letting the birds burn ? The
color " — here he turned to me — " is really almost enough
to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more brilliant
metallic luster than the scales emit — but of this you can-
not judge till to-morrow. In the meantime I can give
you some idea of the shape." Saying this, he seated him-
self at a small table, on which were a pen and ink, but
no paper. He looked for some in a drawer, but found
none,

" Never mind," he said at length, " this will answer ; "
and he drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what
I took to be very dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough
drawing with the pen. While he did this, I retained my
seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the design
was complete, he handed it to me without rising. As I
received it, a loud growl was heard, succeeded by a scratch-
ing at the door. Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfound-
land, belonging to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my
shoulders, and loaded me with caresses ; for I had shown
him much attention during previous visits. When his gam-
bols were over, I looked at the paper, and, to speak the

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truth, found myself not a little puzzled at what my friend
had depicted.

" Well ! " I said, after contemplating it for some min-
utes, " this is a strange scarabarus, I must confess ; new to
me; never saw anything like it before — unless it was a
skull, or a death's head, which it more nearly resembles
than anything else that has come under viy observation."

" A death's head ! " echoed Legrand. " Oh — yes — well,
it has something of that appearance upon paper, no doubt.
The two upper black spots look like eyes, eh ? and the longer
one at the bottom like a mouth — and then the shape of the
whole is oval."

" Perhaps so," said I ; " but, Legrand, I fear you are no
artist. I must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to
form any idea of its personal appearance."

" Well, I don't know," said he, a httle nettled, " I draw
tolerably — should do it at least — have had good masters,
and flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead."

" But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I, " this
is a very passable skull — indeed, I may say that it is a very
excellent skull, according to the vulgar notions about such
specimens of physiology — and your scarabceus must be the
queerest scarabceus in the world if it resembles it. Why,
we may get up a very thrilling bit of superstition upon this
hint. I presume you will call the bug Scarabceus caput
hominis, or something of that kind — ^there are many similar
titles in the Natural Histories. But where are the antenncB
you spoke of ? "

''The autennce!" said Legrand, who seemed to be get-
ting unaccountably warm upon the subject; "I am sure
you must see the antennce. I made them as distinct as
they are in the original insect, and I presume that is suf-
ficient."

"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have— still I don't
see them ; " and I handed him the paper without additional
remark, not wishing to ruffle his temper ; but I was much
surprised at the turn affairs had taken ; his ill humor puz-
zled me— and, as for the drawing of the beetle, there were

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Edzar Allan Poe

*i>

positively no antenna visible, and the whole did bear a
very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a death's
head.

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to
crumple it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual
glance at the design seemed suddenly to rivet his attention.
In an instant his face grew violently red — in another ex-
cessively pale. For some minutes he continued to scrutinize
the drawing minutely where he sat. At length he arose,
took a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat himself
upon a sea chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here
again he made an anxious examination of the paper, turn-
ing it in all directions. He said nothing, however, and his
conduct greatly astonished me ; yet I thought it prudent not
to exacerbate the growing moodiness of his temper by any
comment. Presently he took from his coat pocket a wallet,
placed the paper carefully in it, and deposited both in a
writing desk, which he locked. He now grew more com-
posed in his demeanor; but his original air of enthusiasm
had quite disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky
as abstracted. As the evening wore away he became more
and more absorbed in reverie, from which no sallies of mine
covild arouse him. It had been my intention to pass the
night at the hut, as I had frequently done before, but, see-
ing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave.
He did not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook
my hand with even more than his usual cordiality.

It was about a month after this (and during the interval
I had seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at
Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the
good old negro look so dispirited, and I feared that some
serious disaster had befallen my friend.

" Well, Jup," said I, " what is the matter now ? — how is
your master ? "

" Why, to speak the troof, massa, him not so berry well
as mought be."

" Not well ! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he
complain of? "

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(I

Dar! dot's it! — him neber 'plain of notin' — ^but him
berry sick for all dat."

** Very sick, Jupiter! — why didn't you say so at once?
Is he confined to bed ? "

"No, dat he aint! — he aint 'fin'd nowhar — dat's just
whar de shoe pinch — my mind is got to be berry hebby 'bout
poor Massa Will."

" Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are
talking about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he
told you what ails him ? "

" Why, massa, 'taint worf while for to git mad about de
matter — Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid
him — but den what make him go about looking dis here
way, wid he head down and he soldiers up, and as white
as a goose ? And den he keep a syphon all de time "

" Keeps a what, Jupiter? "

" Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate — de queerest
figgurs I ebber did see. Ise gittin' to be skeered, I tell
you. Hab for to keep mighty tight eye 'pon him 'noovers.
Todder day he gib me slip 'fore de sun up and was gone
de whole ob de blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut
for to gib him deuced good beating when he did come —
but Ise sich a fool dat I hadn't de heart arter all — he looked
so berry poorly."

" Eh ? — what ? — ah yes ! — upon the whole I think you had
better not be too severe with the poor fellow — don't flog
him, Jupiter — he can't very well stand it — but can you form
no idea of what has occasioned this illness, or rather this
change of conduct? Has anything unpleasant happened
since I saw you? "

" No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant since den —
'twas 'fore den I'm feared — 'twas de berry day you was
dare."

'* How ? what do you mean ? "

" Why, massa, I mean de bug — dare now."

"The what?"

" De bug — I'm berry sartin dat Massa Will bin bit some-
where 'bout de head by dat goole-bug."

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Edzar Allan Poe

*i>

" And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a sup-
position ? "

" Claws enuff, massa, and mouff, too. I nebber did see
sich a deuced bug — he kick and he bite eberyting what
cum near him. Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to
let him go 'gin mighty quick, I tell you — den was de time
he must ha' got de bite. I didn't like de look ob de bug
moufif, myself, nohow, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid
my finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found.
I rap him up in de paper and stuff a piece of it in he mouff
— dat was de way."

'* And you think, then, that your master was really bitten
by the beetle, and that the bite made him sick ? "

" I don't think noffin about it — I nose it. What make
him dream 'bout de goole so much, if 'taint cause he bit
by the goole-bug? Ise heered 'bout dem goole-bugs 'fore
dis."

" But how do you know he dreams about gold ? "

" How I know ? why, 'cause he talk about it in he sleep —
dat's how I nose."

" Well, Jup, perhaps you are right ; but to what fortu-
nate circumstance am I to attribute the honor of a visit
from you to-day ? "

" What de matter, massa ? "

"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?"

" No, massa, I bring dis here pissel ; " and here Jupiter
handed me a note which ran thus :

" My Dear

" Why have I not seen you for so long a time ? I hope
you have not been so foolish as to take offense at any little
brusquerie of mine ; but no, that is improbable.

" Since I saw you I have had great cause for anxiety.
I have something to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell
it, or whether I should tell it at all.

" I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor
old Jup annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-
meant attentions. Would you believe it? — he had prepared

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a huge stick, the other day, with which to chastise me for
giving him the sHp, and spending the day, solus, among
the hills on the mainland. I verily believe that my ill looks
alone saved me a flogging.

" I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met.

"If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over
with Jupiter. Do come. I wish to see you to-night, upon
business of importance. I assure you that it is of the
highest importance.

" Ever yours,

" William Legrand."

There was something in the tone of this note which gave
me great uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially
from that of Legrand. What could he be dreaming of?
What new crotchet possessed his excitable brain? What
" business of the highest importance " could he possibly
have to transact ? Jupiter's account of him boded no good.
I dreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortune had, at
length, fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. Without
a moment's hesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany
the negro.

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three
spades, all apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat
in which we were to embark.

" What is the meaning of all this, Jup ? " I inquired.

" Him syfe, massa, and spade."

" Very true ; but what are they doing here ? "

" Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis 'pon
my buying for him in de town, and de debbil's own lot of
money I had to gib for 'em."

" But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your
* Massa Will ' going to do with scythes and spades ? "

'' Dat's more dan / know, and debbil take me if I don't
b'lieve 'tis more dan he know too. But it's all cum ob
de bug."

Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter,
whose whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by " de bug,"

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Edzar Allan Poe

"^

I now stepped into the boat, and made sail. With a fair
and strong breeze we soon ran into the little cove to the
northward of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of some two miles
brought us to the hut. It was about three in the afternoon
when we arrived. Legrand had been awaiting us in eager
expectation. He grasped my hand with a nervous em-
pressement which alarmed me and strengthened the sus-
picions already entertained. His countenance was pale even
to ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnatural
luster. After some inquiries respecting his health, I asked
him, not knowing what better to say, if he had yet obtained
the ^scarabcEus from Lieutenant G .

" Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, " I got it from
him the next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part
with that scarabcciis. Do you know that Jupiter is quite
right about it ? "

" In what way ? " I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart.

" In supposing it to be a bug of real gold." He said this
with an air of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly
shocked.

" This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with
a triumphant smile ; " to reinstate me in my family posses-
sions. Is it any wonder, then, that I prize it? Since For-
tune has thought fit to bestow it upon me, I have only to
use it properly, and I shall arrive at the gold of which it
is the index. Jupiter, bring me that scarabaus!"

"What! de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble
dat bug; you mus' git him for your own self." Hereupon
Legrand arose, with a grave and stately air, and brought
me the beetle from a glass case in which it was enclosed.
It was a beautiful scar abacus, and, at that time, unknown
to naturalists — of course a great prize in a scientific point
of view. There were two round black spots near one ex-
tremity of the back, and a long one near the other. The
scales were exceedingly hard and glossy, with all the ap-
pearance of burnished gold. The weight of the insect was
very remarkable, and, taking all things into consideration,
I could hardly blame Jupiter for his opinion respecting it;

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but what to make of Legrand's concordance with that opin-
ion, I could not, for the life of me, tell.

" I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when
I had completed my examination of the beetle, " I sent for
you that I might have your counsel and assistance in fur-
thering the views of Fate and of the bug "

" My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, " you
are certainly unwell, and had better use some little precau-
tions. You shall go to bed, and I will remain with you a
few davs, until you get over this. You are feverish
and '-"

" Feel my pulse," said he.

I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest
indication of fever.

" But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow me
this once to prescribe for you. In the first place go to bed.
In the next "

" You are mistaken," he interposed, " I am as well as
I can expect to be under the excitement which I sufifer.
If you really wish me well, you will relieve this excite-
ment."

" And how is this to be done ? "

" Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an
expedition into the hills, upon the mainland, and, in this
expedition, we shall need the aid of some person in whom
we can confide. You are the only one we can trust.
Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement which you now
perceive in me will be equally allayed."

" I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I replied ;
" but do you mean to say that this infernal beetle has any
connection with your expedition into the hills ? "

" It has."

" Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd
proceeding."

" I am sorry — very sorry — for we shall have to try it by
ourselves."

" Try it by yourselves 1 The man is surely mad ! — but
stay ! — how long do you propose to be absent ? "

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Edzar Allan Poe

'it

" Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and
be back, at all events, by sunrise."

" And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when
this freak of yours is over, and the bug business (good
God!) settled to your satisfaction, you will then return
home and follow my advice implicitly, as that of your
physician ? "

" Yes ; I promise ; and now let us be off, for we have no
time to lose."

With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started
about four o'clock — Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself.
Jupiter had with him the scythe and spades — the whole of
which he insisted upon carrying — more through fear, it
seemed to me, of trusting either of the implements within
reach of his master, than from any excess of industry or
complaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme,
and " dat deuced bug " were the sole words which escaped
his lips during the journey. For my own part, I had charge
of a couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand contented him-
self with the scarahcEus, which he carried attached to the
end of a bit of whipcord ; twirling it to and fro, with the
air of a conjurer, as he went. When I observed this last,
plain evidence of my friend's aberration of mind, I could
scarcely refrain from tears. I thought it best, however, to
humor his fancy, at least for the present, or until I could
adopt some more energetic measures with a chance of suc-
cess. In the meantime I endeavored, but all in vain, to
sound him in regard to the object of the expedition. Hav-
ing succeeded in inducing me to accompany him, he seemed
unwilling to hold conversation upon any topic of minor
importance, and to all my questions vouchsafed no other
reply than " we shall see ! "

We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means
of a skiff, and, ascending the high grounds on the shore
of the mainland, proceeded in a northwesterly direction,
through a tract of country excessively wild and desolate,
where no trace of a human footstep was to be seen. Le-
grand led the way with decision ; pausing only for an in-

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American Mystery Stories

stant, here and there, to consult what appeared to be certain
landmarks of his own contrivance upon a former occasion.

In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the
sun was just setting when we entered a region infinitely
more dreary than any yet seen. It was a species of table-
land, near the summit of an almost inaccessible hill, densely
wooded from base to pinnacle, and interspersed with huge
crags that appeared to lie loosely upon the soil, and in many
cases were prevented from precipitating themselves into the
valleys below, merely by the support of the trees against
which they reclined. Deep ravines, in various directions,
gave an air of still sterner solemnity to the scene.

The natural platform to which we had clambered was
thickly overgrown with brambles, through which we soon
discovered that it would have been impossible to force our
way but for the scythe; and Jupiter, by direction of his
master, proceeded to clear for us a path to the foot of an
enormously tall tulip tree, which stood, with some eight or
ten oaks, upon the level, and far surpassed them all, and
all other trees which I had then ever seen, in the beauty of
its foliage and form, in the wide spread of its branches,
and in the general majesty of its appearance. When we
reached this tree, Legrand turned to Jupiter, and asked him
if he thought he could climb it. The old man seemed a
little staggered by the question, and for some moments
made no reply. At length he approached the huge trunk,
walked slowly around it, and examined it with minute atten-
tion. When he had completed his scrutiny, he merely said :

" Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life."

" Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon
be too dark to see what we are about."

"How far mus' go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter.

" Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you
which wav to go — and here — stop! take this beetle with
you."

" De bug, Massa Will! — de goole-bug! " cried the negro,
drawing back in dismay — " what for mus' tote de bug way
up de tree ? — d — n if I do ! "

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Edgar Allan Poe

"If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to
take hold of a harmless little dead beetle, why you can carry
it up by this string — but, if you do not take it up with you
in some way, I shall be under the necessity of breaking
your head with this shovel."

" What de matter now, massa ? " said Jup, evidently
shamed into compliance ; " always want for to raise fuss
wid old nigger. Was only funnin anyhow. Me feered de
bug! what I keer for de bug?" Here he took cautiously
hold of the extreme end of the string, and, maintaining the
insect as far from his person as circumstances would per-
mit, prepared to ascend the tree.

In youth, the tulip tree, or Liriodendron tulipiferum,
the most magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk
peculiarly smooth, and often rises to a great height without
lateral branches ; but, in its riper age, the bark becomes
gnarled and uneven, while many short limbs make their
appearance on the stem. Thus the difficulty of ascension,
in the present case, lay more in semblance than in reality.
Embracing the huge cylinder, as closely as possible, with
his arms and knees, seizing with his hands some projec-
tions, and resting his naked toes upon others, Jupiter, after
one or two narrow escapes from falling, at length wriggled
himself into the first great fork, and seemed to consider
the whole business as virtually accomplished. The risk of
the achievement was, in fact, now over, although the climber
was some sixty or seventy feet from the ground.

" Which way mus' go now, Massa Will? " he asked.

" Keep up the largest branch — the one on this side," said
Legrand. The negro obeyed him promptly, and apparently
with but little trouble ; ascending higher and higher, until
no glimpse of his squat figure could be obtained through
the dense foliage which enveloped it. Presently his voice
was heard in a sort of halloo.

" How much fudder is got for go ? "

" How high up are you ? " asked Legrand.

" Ebber so fur," replied the negro ; '* can see de sky fru
de top ob de tree."

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American Mystery Stories

" Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look
down the trunk and count the Hmbs below you on this side.
How many Hmbs have you passed ? "

" One, two, tree, four, fibe — I done pass fibe big limb,
massa, 'pon dis side."

" Then go one limb higher."

In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing
that the seventh limb was attained.

'' Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, " I
want you to work your way out upon that limb as far as
you can. If you see anything strange let me know."

By this time what little doubt I might have entertained
of my poor friend's insanity was put finally at rest. I had
no alternative but to conclude him stricken with lunacy,
and I became seriously anxious about getting him home.
While I was pondering upon what was best to be done,
Jupiter's voice was again heard.

" Mos feered for to ventur pon dis limb berry far — 'tis
dead limb putty much all de way."

" Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter ? " cried Le-
grand in a quavering voice.

" Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail — done up for
sartin — done departed dis here life."

"What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Le-
grand, seemingly in the greatest distress.

" Do ! " said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a
word, " why come home and go to bed. Come now ! —
that's a fine fellow. It's getting late, and, besides, you re-
member your promise."

" Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, " do
y6u hear me ? "

" Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain."

" Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if
you think it very rotten."

" Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro in a
few moments, " but not so berry rotten as mought be.
Mought venture out leetle way pon de limb by myself, dat's
true."

138

Edgar Allan Poe '■" ,

" By yourself! — what do you mean? "

" Why, I mean de bug. 'Tis berry hebby bug. Spose I
drop him down fuss, an den de limb won't break wid just
de weight of one nigger."

" You infernal scoundrel ! " cried Legrand, apparently
much relieved, " what do you mean by telling me such non-
sense as that? As sure as you drop that beetle I'll break
your neck. Look here, Jupiter, do you hear me ? "

** Yes, massa, needn't hollo at poor nigger dat style."

" Well ! now listen ! — if you will venture out on the limb
as far as you think safe, and not let go the beetle, I'll make
you a present of a silver dollar as soon as you get down."

" I'm gwine, Massa Will — deed I is," replied the negro
very promptly — " mos out to the eend now."

"Out to the end!" here fairly screamed Legrand; "do
you say you are out to the end of that limb ? "

" Soon be to de eend, massa — o-o-o-o-oh ! Lor-gol-a-
marcy ! what is dis here pon de tree ? "

" Well! " cried Legrand, highly delighted, " what is it? "

" Why 'taint noffin but a skull — somebody bin lef him
head up de tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de
meat off."

" A skull, you say ! — very well, — how is it fastened to
the limb ? — what holds it on ? "

" Sure nuff, massa ; mus look. Why dis berry curious
sarcumstance, pon my word — dare's a great big nail in de
skull, what fastens ob it on to de tree."

" Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you — do you
hear?"

" Yes, massa."

" Pay attention, then — find the left eye of the skull."

" Hum ! hoo ! dat's good ! why dey ain't no eye lef at all."

" Curse your stupidity ! do you know your right hand
from your left ? "

" Yes, I knows dat — knows all about dat — 'tis my lef
hand what I chops de wood wid."

"To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left eye is
on the same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose, you

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American Mystery Stcries

can find the left eye of the skull, or the place where the
left eye has been. Have you found it ? "

Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked:

*' Is de lef eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef
hand of de skull too r — cause de skull aint got not a bit ob
a hand at all — nebber mind ! I got de lef eye now — ^here de
lef eye ! what mus do wid it ? "

" Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will
reach — but be careful and not let go your hold of the
string."

" All dat dene. Massa Wiil ; mightA* easy ting for to put
de bug fru de hole — ^look out for him dare below ! "

During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person could
be seen; but the beetle, which he had suffered to descend,
was now \-isible at the end of the string, and glistened, like
a globe of burnished gold, in the last rays of the setting
sun, some of which still faintly illumined the eminence upon
which we stood. The scarabcrus hung quite clear of any
branches, and, if allowed to fall, wotild have fallen at our
feet. Legrand immediately took the sc}the, and cleared
with it a circular space, three or four yards in diameter,
just beneath the insect, and, ha-ving accomplished this, or-
dered Jupiter to let go the string and come down from the
tree.

Dri\-ing a peg. with great nicet\;. into the ground, at the
precise spot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced
from his pocket a tape measure. Fastening one end of this
at that point of the trunk of the tree which was nearest the
peg, he unrolled it till it reached the peg and thence fur-
ther imrolled it in the direction already established by the
two points of the tree and the peg, for the distance of fifty
feet — Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the scNthe.
At the spot thus attained a second peg was driven, and
about this, as a center, a rude circle, about four feet in
diameter, described. Taking now a spade himself, and giv-
ing one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrand begged us to set
about digging as quickly as possible.

To speak the trjih, I had no especial relish for such

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Edzar Allan Poe

'is

amusement at any time, and, at that particular moment,
would willingly have declined it ; for the night was coming
on, and I felt much fatigued with the exercise already
taken ; but I saw no mode of escape, and was fearful of
disturbing my poor friend's equanimity by a refusal. Could
I have depended, indeed, upon Jupiter's aid, I would have
had no hesitation in attempting to get the lunatic home by
force; but I was too well assured of the old negro's dispo-
sition, to hope that he would assist me, under any circum-
stances, in a personal contest with his master. I made no
doubt that the latter had been infected with some of the
innumerable Southern superstitions about money buried,
and that his fantasy had received confirmation by the find-
ing of the scarabcu'js, or, perhaps, by Jupiter's obstinacy in
maintaining it to be " a bug of real gold." A mind dis-
posed to lunacy would readily be led away by such sugges-
tions— especially if chiming in with favorite preconceived
ideas — and then I called to mind the poor fellow's speech
about the beetle's being " the index of his fortune." Upon
the whole, I was sadly vexed and puzzled, but, at length, I
concluded to make a virtue of necessity — to dig with a good
will, and thus the sooner to convince the visionary, by
ocular demonstration, of the fallacy of the opinion he en-
tertained.

The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a
zeal worthy a more rational cause ; and, as the glare fell
upon our persons and implements, I could not help think-
ing how picturesque a group we composed, and how strange
and suspicious our labors must have appeared to any inter-
loper who, by chance, might have stumbled upon our
whereabouts.

We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said ;
and our chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the
dog, who took exceeding interest in our proceedings. He,
at length, became so obstreperous that we grew fearful of
his giving the alarm to some stragglers in the vicinity, —
or, rather, this was the apprehension of Legrand ; — for
myself, I should have rejoiced at any interruption which

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might have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The
noise was, at length, very effectually silenced by Jupiter,
who, getting out of the hole with a dogged air of de-
liberation, tied the brute's mouth up with one of his
suspenders, and then returned, with a grave chuckle, to
his task.

When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached
a depth of five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became
manifest. A general pause ensued, and I began to hope
that the farce was at an end. Legrand, however, although
evidently much disconcerted, wiped his brow thoughtfully
and recommenced. We had excavated the entire circle of
four feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit,
and went to the farther depth of two feet. Still nothing
appeared. The gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at
length clambered from the pit, with the bitterest disappoint-
ment imprinted upon every feature, and proceeded, slowly
and reluctantly, to put on his coat, which he had thrown
off at the beginning of his labor. In the meantime I made
no remark. Jupiter, at a signal from his master, began
to gather up his tools. This done, and the dog having
been unmuzzled, we turned in profound silence toward
home.

We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction,
when, with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and
seized him by the collar. The astonished negro opened his
eyes and mouth to the fullest extent, let fall the spades, and
fell upon his knees.

" You scoundrel ! " said Legrand, hissing out the sylla-
bles from between his clenched teeth — " you infernal black
villain! — speak, I tell you! — answer me this instant, with-
out prevarication ! — which — which is your left eye ? "

" Oh, my golly, Massa Will ! aint dis here my lef eye
for sartain ? " roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand
upon his right organ of vision, and holding it there with a
desperate pertinacity, as if in immediate dread of his mas-
ter's attempt at a gouge.

" I thought so ! — I knew it ! hurrah I " vociferated Le-

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Edgar Allan Poe

grand, letting the negro go and executing a series of curvets
and caracols, much to the astonishment of his valet, who,
arising from his knees, looked, mutely, from his master to
myself, and tlien f'-^.m myself to his master.

" Come ! we luust go back," said the latter, " the game's
not up yet ; " and he again led the way to the tulip tree.

" Jupiter," said he, when we reached its foot, " come
here ! was the skull nailed to the limb with the face out-
ward, or with the face to the limb ? "

" De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at
de eyes good, widout any trouble."

" Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you
dropped the beetle ? " here Legrand touched each of Jupi-
ter's eyes.

" 'Twas dis eye, massa — de lef eye — jis as you tell me,"
and here it was his right eye that the negro indicated.

" That will do — we must try it again."

Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or
fancied that I saw, certain indications of method, removed
the peg which marked the spot where the beetle fell, to a
spot about three inches to the westward of its former posi-
tion. Taking, now, the tape measure from the nearest
point of the trunk to the peg, as before, and continuing the
extension in a straight line to the distance of fifty feet, a
spot was indicated, removed, by several yards, from the
point at which we had been digging.

Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than
in the former instance, was now described, and we again
set to work with the spade. I was dreadfully weary, but,
scarcely understanding what had occasioned the change in
my thoughts, I felt no longer any great aversion from the
labor imposed. I had become most unaccountably inter-
ested— nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something,
amid all the extravagant demeanor of Legrand — some air
of forethought, or of deliberation, which impressed me. I
dug eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually look-
ing, with something that very much resembled expectation,
for the fancied treasure, the vision of which had demented

143

American Mystery Stories

my unfortunate companion. At a period when such vaga-
ries of thought most fully possessed me, and when we had
been at work perhaps an hour and a half, we were again
interrupted by the violent bowlings of the dog. His un-
easiness, in the first instance, had been, evidently, but the
result of playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a bit-
ter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to
muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping into
the hole, tore up the mold frantically with his claws. In
a few seconds he had uncovered a mass of human bones,
forming two complete skeletons, intermingled with several
buttons of metal, and what appeared to be the dust of de-
cayed woolen. One or two strokes of a spade upturned the
blade of a large Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther,
three or four loose pieces of gold and silver coin came to
light.

At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be
restrained, but the countenance of his master wore an air
of extreme disappointment. He urged us, however, to con-
tinue our exertions, and the words were hardly uttered
when I stumbled and fell forward, having caught the toe
of my boot in a large ring of iron that lay half buried in
the loose earth.

We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten
minutes of more intense excitement. During this interval
we had fairly unearthed an oblong chest of wood, which,
from its perfect preservation and wonderful hardness, had
plainly been subjected to some mineralizing process — per-
haps that of the bichloride of mercury. This box was three
feet and a half long, three feet broad, and two and a half
feet deep. It was firmly secured by bands of wrought iron,
riveted, and forming a kind of open trelliswork over the
whole. On each side of the chest, near the top, were three
rings of iron — six in all — by means of which a firm hold
could be obtained by six persons. Our utmost united en-
deavors served only to disturb the coffer very slightly in its
bed. We at once saw the impossibility of removing so
great a weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of the lid coh-

144

Edgar Allan Poe

sisted of two sliding bolts. These we drew back — ^trem-
bling and panting with anxiety. In an instant, a treasure
of incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the rays
of the lanterns fell within the pit, there flashed upward a
glow and a glare, from a confused heap of gold and of
jewels, that absolutely dazzled our eyes.

I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I
gazed. Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand
appeared exhausted with excitement, and spoke very few
words. Jupiter's countenance wore, for some minutes, as
deadly a pallor as it is possible, in the nature of things, for
any negro's visage to assume. He seemed stupefied —
thunderstricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in the
pit, and burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold,
let them there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath.
At length, with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a
soliloquy :

" And dis all cum ob de goole-bug ! de putty goole-bug !
de poor little goole-bug, what I boosed in that sabage kind
ob style! Aint you shamed ob yourself, nigger? — answer
me dat ! "

It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both
master and valet to the expediency of removing the treas-
ure. It was growing late, and it behooved us to make
exertion, that we might get everything housed before day-
light. It was difficult to say what should be done, and
much time was spent in deliberation — so confused were the
ideas of all. We, finally, lightened the box by removing
two thirds of its contents, when we were enabled, with some
trouble, to raise it from the hole. The articles taken out
were deposited among the brambles, and the dog left to
guard them, with strict orders from Jupiter neither, upon
any pretense, to stir from the spot, nor to open his mouth
until our return. We then hurriedly made for home with
the chest; reaching the hut in safety, but after excessive
toil, at one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as we were,
it was not in human nature to do more immediately. We
rested until two, and had supper ; starting for the hills im-

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American Mystery Stories

mediately afterwards, armed with tliree stout £acks, which,
by good luck, were upon the premises. A Httle before four
we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of the booty,
as equally as might be, among us, and, leaving the holes
unfilled, again set out for the hut, at which, for the second
time, we deposited our golden burdens, just as the first faint
streaks of the dawn gleamed from over the treetops in the
east.

We were now thoroughly broken down ; but the intense
excitement of the time denied us repose. x\fter an un-
quiet slumber of some three or four hours' duration, we
arose, as if by preconcert, to make examination of our
treasure.

The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the
whole day, and the greater part of the next night, in a
scrutiny of its contents. There had been nothing like order
or arrangement. Everything had been heaped in promiscu-
ously. Having assorted all with care, we found ourselves
possessed of even vaster wealth than we had at first sup-
posed. In coin there was rather more than four hundred
and fifty thousand dollars — estimating the value of the
pieces, as accurately as we could, by the tables of the
period. There was not a particle of silver. All was gold
of antique date and of great variety — French, Spanish, and
German money, with a few English guineas, and some
counters, of which we had never seen specimens before.
There were several very large and heavy coins, so worn
that we could make nothing of their inscriptions. There
was no American money. The value of the jewels we
found more difficulty in estimating. There were diamonds
— some of them exceedingly large and fine — a hundred and
ten in all, and not one of them small ; eighteen rubies of
remarkable brilliancy ; — three hundred and ten emeralds, all
very beautiful ; and twenty-one sapphires, with an opal.
These stones had all been broken from their settings and
thrown loose in the chest. The settings themselves, which
we picked out from among the other gold, appeared to have
been beaten up with hammers, as if to prevent identifica-

146

Edgar Allan Poe

tion. Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of solid
gold ornaments ; nearly two hundred massive finger and ear-
rings ; rich chains — thirty of these, if I remember ; eighty-
three very large and heavy crucifixes ; five gold censers of
great value ; a prodigious golden punch bowl, ornamented
with richly chased vine leaves and Bacchanalian figures ;
with two sword handles exquisitely embossed, and many
other smaller articles which I cannot recollect. The weight
of these valuables exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds
avoirdupois ; and in this estimate I have not included one
hundred and ninety-seven superb gold watches ; three of the
number being worth each five hundred dollars, if one.
Many of them were very old, and as timekeepers valueless ;
the works having suffered, more or less, from corrosion —
but all were richly jeweled and in cases of great worth.
We estimated the entire contents of the chest, that night,
at a million and a half of dollars ; and upon the subsequent
disposal of the trinkets and jewels (a few being retained
for our own use), it was found that we had greatly under-
valued the treasure.

When, at length, we had concluded our examination, and
the intense excitement of the time had, in some measure,
subsided, Legrand, who saw that I was dying with impa-
tience for a solution of this most extraordinary riddle, en-
tered into a full detail of all the circumstances connected
with it.

" You remember," said he, " the night when I handed
you the rough sketch I had made of the scarabccus. You
recollect, also, that I became quite vexed at you for insist-
ing that my drawing resembled a death's head. When you
first made this assertion I thought you were jesting; but
afterwards I called to mind the peculiar spots on the back
of the insect, and admitted to myself that your remark had
some little foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic
powers irritated me — for I am considered a good artist—
and, therefore, when you handed me the scrap of parch-
ment, I was about to crumple it up and throw it angrily
into the fire."

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American Mystery Stories

" The scrap of paper, you mean," said I.

" No ; it had much of the appearance of paper, and a?
first I supposed it to be such, but when I came to draw upon
it, I discovered it at once to be a piece of very thin parch-
ment. It was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I was
in the very act of crumipling it up, my glance fell upon
the sketch at which you had been looking, and you may
imagine my astonishment when I perceived, in fact, the
figure of a death's head just where, it seemed to me, I had
made the drawing of the beetle. For a moment I was too
much amazed to think with accuracy. I knew that my
design was very different in detail from this — although
there was a certain similarity in general outline. Presently
I took a candle, and seating myself at the other end of the
room, proceeded to scrutinize the parchment more closely.
Upon turning it over, I saw my own sketch upon the re-
verse, just as I had made it. My first idea, now, was mere
surprise at the really remarkable similarity of outline — at
the singular coincidence involved in the fact that, unknown
to me, there should have been a skull upon the other side
of the parchment, immediately beneath my figure of the
scarabmis, and that this skull, not only in outline, but in
size, should so closely resemble my drawing. I say the
singularity of this coincidence absolutely stupefied me for
a time. This is the usual effect of such coincidences. The
mind struggles to establish a connection — a sequence of
cause and effect — and, being unable to do so, suffers a
species of temporary paralysis. But, when I recovered from
this stupor, there dawned upon me gradually a conviction
which startled me even far more than the coincidence. I
began distinctly, positively, to remember that there had been
no drawing upon the parchment, when I made my sketch
of the scarabcous. I became perfectly certain of this; for
I recollected turning up first one side and then the other,
in search of the cleanest spot. Had the skull been then
there, of course I could not have failed to notice it. Here
was indeed a mystery which I felt it impossible to explain ;
but, even at that early moment, there seemed to glimmer.

148

Ed^ar Allan Poe

*i>

faintly, within the most remote and secret chambers of m>
intellect, a glow-vvormlike conception of that truth which
last night's adventure brought to so magnificent a demon-
stration. I arose at once, and putting the parchment se-
curely away, dismissed all further reflection until I should
be alone.

" When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep,
I betook myself to a more methodical investigation of the
affair. In the first place I considered the manner in which
the parchment had come into my possession. The spot
where we discovered the scarabccus was on the coast of
the mainland, about a mile eastward of the island, and but
a short distance above high-water mark. Upon my taking
hold of it, it gave me a sharp bite, which caused me to
let it drop. Jupiter, with his accustomed caution, before
seizing the insect, which had flown toward him, looked
about him for a leaf, or something of that nature, by which
to take hold of it. It was at this moment that his eyes,
and mine also, fell upon the scrap of parchment, which I
then supposed to be paper. It was lying half buried in the
sand, a corner sticking up. Near the spot where we found
it, I observed the remnants of the hull of what appeared to
have been a ship's longboat. The wreck seemed to have
been there for a very great while, for the resemblance to
boat timbers could scarcely be traced.

" Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the
beetle in it, and gave it to me. Soon afterwards we turned

to go home, and on the way met Lieutenant G . I

showed him the insect, and he begged me to let him take
it to the fort. Upon my consenting, he thrust it forthwith
into his waistcoat pocket, without the parchment in which
it had been wrapped, and which I had continued to hold in
my hand during his inspection. Perhaps he dreaded my
changing my mind, and thought it best to make sure of the
prize at once — you know how enthusiastic he is on all sub-
jects connected with Natural History. At the same time,
without being conscious of it, I must have deposited the
parchment in my own pocket.

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American Mystery Stories

" You remember that when I went to the table, for the
purpose of making a sketch of the beetle, I found no paper
where it was usually kept. I looked in the drawer, and
found none there. I searched my pockets, hoping to find
an old letter, when my hand fell upon the parchment. I
thus detail the precise mode in which it came into my pos-
session, for the circumstances impressed me with pecuHar
force.

" No doubt you will think me fanciful — but I had already
established a kind of connection. I had put together two
links of a great chain. There was a boat lying upon a sea-
coast, and not far from the boat was a parchment — not a
paper — with a skull depicted upon it. You will, of course,
ask ' where is the connection ? ' I reply that the skull,
or death's head, is the well-known emblem of the pirate.
The flag of the death's head is hoisted in all engage-
ments.

" I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not
paper. Parchment is durable — almost imperishable. Mat-
ters of little moment are rarely consigned to parchment;
since, for the mere ordinary purposes of drawing or writ-
ing, it is not nearly so well adapted as paper. This reflec-
tion suggested some meaning — some relevancy — in the
death's head. I did not fail to observe, also, the form of
the parchment. Although one of its corners had been, by
some accident, destroyed, it could be seen that the original
form was oblong. It was just such a slip, indeed, as might
have been chosen for a memorandum — for a record of
something to be long remembered, and carefully pre-
served."

" But," I interposed, " you say that the skull was not
upon the parchment when you made the drawing of the
beetle. How then do you trace any connection between
the boat and the skull — since this latter, according to your
own admission, must have been designed (God only knows
how or by whom) at some period subsequent to your sketch-
ing the scarahcciis? "

" Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery ; although the

150

Ed^ar Allan Poe

'^b>

secret, at this point, I had comparatively Httle difficulty in
solving. My steps were sure, and could afford but a single
result. I reasoned, for example, thus : When I drew the
scarabcrus, there was no skull apparent upon the parch-
ment. When I had completed the drawing I gave it to you,
and observed you narrowly until you returned it. Yon,
therefore, did not design the skull, and no one else was
present to do it. Then it was not done by human agency.
And nevertheless it was done.

" At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remem-
ber, and did remember, with entire distinctness, every in-
cident which occurred about the period in question. The
weather was chilly (oh, rare and happy accident!), and a
fire was blazing upon the hearth, I was heated with exer-
cise and sat near the table. You, however, had drawn a
chair close to the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment
in your hand, and as you were in the act of inspecting it.
Wolf, the Newfoundland, entered, and leaped upon your
shoulders. With your left hand you caressed him and kept
him off, while your right, holding the parchment, was per-
mitted to fall listlessly between your knees, and in close
proximity to the fire. At one moment I thought the blaze
had caught it, and was about to caution you, but, before I
could speak, you had withdrawn it, and were engaged in
its examination. When I considered all these particulars,
I doubted not for a moment that heat had been the agent
in bringing to light, upon the parchment, the skull which
I saw designed upon it. You are well aware that chemical
preparations exist, and have existed time out of mind, by
means of which it is possible to write upon either paper or
vellum, so that the characters shall become visible only
when subjected to the action of fire. Zaffre, digested in
aqua regia, and diluted with four times its weight of water,
is sometimes employed ; a green tint results. The regulus
of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of niter, gives a red. These
colors disappear at longer or shorter intervals after the ma-
terial written upon cools, but again become apparent upon
the reapplication of heat.

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American Mystery Stories

" I now scrutinized the death's head with care. Its outer
edges — the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the
vellum — were far more distinct than the others. It was
clear that the action of the caloric had been imperfect or
unequal. I immediately kindled a fire, and subjected every
portion of the parchment to a glowing heat. At first, the
only effect was the strengthening of the faint lines in the
skull ; but, upon persevering in the experiment, there be-
came visible, at the corner of the slip, diagonally opposite
to the spot in which the death's head was delineated, the
figure of what I at first supposed to be a goat. A closer
scrutiny, however, satisfied me that it was intended for a
kid."

" Ha ! ha ! " said I, " to be sure I have no right to laugh
at you — a million and a half of money is too serious a
matter for mirth — but you are not about to establish a
third link in your chain — you will not find any especial
connection between your pirates and a goat — pirates, you
know, have nothing to do with goats ; they appertain to the
farming interest."

" But I have just said that the figure was not that of a
goat."

" Well, a kid then — pretty much the same thing."

" Pretty much, but not altogether," said Legrand. " You
may have heard of one Captain Kidd. I at once looked
upon the figure of the animal as a kind of punning or
hieroglyphical signature. I say signature ; because its posi-
tion upon the vellum suggested this idea. The death's head
at the corner diagonally opposite, had, in the same manner,
the air of a stamp, or seal. But I was sorely put out by
the absence of all else — of the body to my imagined instru-
ment— of the text for my context."

" I presume you expected to find a letter between the
stamp and the signature."

" Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly
impressed with a presentiment of some vast good fortune
impending. I can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, it
was rather a desire than an actual belief ; — but do you know

152

Edgar Allan Poe

that Jupiter's silly words, about the bug being of solid gold,
had a remarkable effect upon my fancy? And then the
series of accidents and coincidents — these were so very ex-
traordinary. Do you observe how mere an accident it was
that these events should have occurred upon the sole day
of all the year in which it has been, or may be sufficiently
cool for fire, and that without the fire, or without the in-
tervention of the dog at the precise moment in which
he appeared, I should never have become aware of the
death's head, and so never the possessor of the treas-
ure?"

" But proceed — I am all impatience."

" Well ; you have heard, of course, the many stories
current — the thousand vague rumors afloat about money
buried, somewhere upon the Atlantic coast, by Kidd and
his associates. These rumors must have had some founda-
tion in fact. And that the rumors have existed so long and
so continuous, could have resulted, it appeared to me, only
from the circumstance of the buried treasures still remain-
ing entombed. Had Kidd concealed his plunder for a time,
and afterwards reclaimed it, the rumors would scarcely
have reached us in their present unvarying form. You will
observe that the stories told are all about money-seekers, not
about money-finders. Had the pirate recovered his money,
there the affair would have dropped. It seemed to me that
some accident — say the loss of a memorandum indicating
its locality — had deprived him of the means of recovering
it, and that this accident had become known to his follow-
ers, who otherwise might never have heard that the treas-
ure had been concealed at all, and who, busying themselves
in vain, because unguided, attempts to regain it, had
given first birth, and then universal currency, to the re-
ports which are now so common. Have you ever heard
of any important treasure being unearthed along the
coast ? "

" Never."

" But that Kidd's accumulations were immense, is well
known. I took it for granted, therefore, that the earth still

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American Mystery Stories

held them ; and you will scarcely be surprised when I tell
you that I felt a hope, nearly amounting to certainty, that
the parchment so strangely found involved a lost record of
the place of deposit."

" But how did you proceed ? "

" I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the
heat, but nothing appeared. I now thought it possible that
the coating of dirt might have something to do with the
failure : so I carefully rinsed the parchment by pouring
warm water over it, and, having done this, I placed it in
a tin pan, with the skull downward, and put the pan upon
a furnace of lighted charcoal. In a few minutes, the pan
having become thoroughly heated, I removed the slip, and,
to my inexpressible joy, found it spotted, in several places,
with what appeared to be figures arranged in lines. Again
I placed it in the pan, and suffered it to remain another
minute. Upon taking it off, the whole was just as you see
it now."

Here Legrand, having reheated the parchment, submitted
it to my inspection. The following characters were rudely
traced, in a red tint, between the death's head and the
goat:

"53Ht305))6*;4826)4)4l:.;8o6*;48t81[6o))85;iJ(;:t*8t83(88)5*
t;46(;88*96*?;8)*t(;485);5*t2:n(;4956*2(5*— 4)81l8*;4o69285)

;)6t8)4tt;i(l9;48o8i;8:8ti;48t85;4)485t5288o6*8i(t9;48;(88;4(
J?34;48)4t;i6i;:i88;t?;"

" But," said I, returning him the slip, " I am as much in
the dark as ever. Were all the jewels of Golconda await-
ing me upon my solution of this enigma, I am quite sure
that I should be unable to earn them."

" And yet," said Legrand, " the solution is by no means
so difficult as you might be led to imagine from the first
hasty inspection of the characters. These characters, as
anyone might readily guess, form a cipher — that is to say,
they convey a meaning; but then from what is known of
Kidd, I could not suppose him capable of constructing any

154

Edgar Allan Poe

of the more abstruse cryptographs. I made up my mind,
at once, that this was of a simple species — such, however,
as would appear, to the crude intellect of the sailor, abso-
lutely insoluble without the key."

"And you really solved it?"

" Readily ; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten
thousand times greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias
of mind, have led me to take interest in such riddles, and
it may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can con-
struct an enigma of the kind which human ingenuity may
not, by proper application, resolve. In fact, having once
established connected and legible characters, I scarcely gave
a thought to the mere difficulty of developing their import.

" In the present case — indeed in all cases of secret writ-
ing— the first question regards the language of the cipher ;
for the principles of solution, so far, especially, as the more
simple ciphers are concerned, depend upon, and are varied
by, the genius of the particular idiom. In general, there
is no alternative but experiment (directed by probabilities)
of every tongue known to him who attempts the solution,
until the true one be attained. But, with the cipher now
before us, all difficulty was removed by the signature. The
pun upon the word ' Kidd ' is appreciable in no other lan-
guage than the English, But for this consideration I should
have begun my attempts with the Spanish and French, as
the tongues in which a secret of this kind would most
naturally have been written by a pirate of the Span-
ish main. As it was, I assumed the cryptograph to be
English.

"You observe there are no divisions between the words.
Had there been divisions the task would have been com-
paratively easy. In such cases I should have commenced
with a collation and analysis of the shorter words, and, had
a word of a single letter occurred, as is most likely, (a or
/, for example,) I should have considered the solution as
assured. But, there being no division, my first step was to
ascertain the predominant letters, as well as the least fre-
quent. Counting all, I constructed a table thus :

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American Mystery Stories

Of the character 8

there are

33-

*
9

(<

26.

4

((

19.

t)

(t

16.

*

ti

13-

5

«

12.

6

((

II.

fi

«

8.

0

e(

6.

92

li

5-

•3

(C

4.

?

•

((

3.

H

((

2.

•

It

I.

" Now, in EngHsh, the letter which most frequently
occurs is e. Afterwards, the succession runs thus : a 0 i d
hnrstiiycfglmwhkpqxz. E predominates so
remarkably, that an individual sentence of any length is
rarely seen, in which it is not the prevailing character.

" Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the ground-
work for something more than a mere guess. The general
use which may be made of the table is obvious — but, in
this particular cipher, we shall only very partially require
its aid. As our predominant character is 8, we will com-
mence by assuming it as the e of the natural alphabet. To
verify the supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen often
in couples — for e is doubled with great frequency in Eng-
lish— in such words, for example, as ' meet,' ' fleet,' ' speed,'
* seen,' ' been,' ' agree,' etc. In the present instance we see
it doubled no less than five times, although the cryptograph
is brief.

" Let us assume 8, then, as e. Now, of all words in the
language, ' the ' is most usual ; let us see, therefore, whether
there are not repetitions of any three characters, in the
same order of collocation, the last of them being 8. If we
discover repetitions of such letters, so arranged, they will
most probably represent the word ' the.' Upon inspection,

156

Edmr Allan Poe

"iy

we find no less than seven such arrangements, the charac-
ters being 148. We may, therefore, assume that ; repre-
sents t, 4 represents h, and 8 represents e — the last being
now well confirmed. Thus a great step has been taken.

" But, having established a single word, we are enabled
to establish a vastly important point ; that is to say, several
commencements and terminations of other words. Let us
refer, for example, to the last instance but one, in which
the combination 148 occurs — not far from the end of the
cipher. We know that the ; immediately ensuing is the
commencement of a word, and, of the six characters suc-
ceeding this ' the,' we are cognizant of no less than five.
Let us set these characters down, thus, by the letters we
know them to represent, leaving a space for the unknown —

t eeth.

" Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the ' th,' as
forming no portion of the word commencing with the first
/ ; since, by experiment of the entire alphabet for a letter
adapted to the vacancy, we perceive that no word can be
formed of which this th can be a part. We are thus nar-
rowed into

t ee,

and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as before,
we arrive at the word ' tree,' as the sole possible reading.
We thus gain another letter, r, represented by (, with the
words ' the tree ' in juxtaposition.

*' Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we
again see the combination ;48, and employ it by way of
termination to what immediately precedes. We have thus
this arrangement :

the tree ;4(J?34 the,

or, substituting the natural letters, where known, it reads
thus :

the tree thr J ?3h the.

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American Mystery Stories

" Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave
blank spaces, or substitute dots, we read thus :

the tree thr...h the,

when the word ' through ' makes itself evident at once.
But this discovery gives us three new letters, o, u, and g,
represented by J, ?, and 3.

" Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for com-
binations of known characters, we find, not very far from
the beginning, this arrangement,

83(88, or agree,

which plainly, is the conclusion of the word ' degree,' and
gives us another letter, d, represented by f.

" Four letters beyond the word ' degree,' we perceive the
combination

.;46(;88.

" Translating the known characters, and representing the
unknown by dots, as before, we read thus :

th.rtee,

an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word ' thir-
teen,' and again furnishing us with two new characters,
i and n, represented by 6 and *,

" Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph,
we find the combination,

53Ut-
" Translating as before, we obtain

• good,
which assures us that the first letter is 'A, and that the first
two words are ' A good.'

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Edgar Allan Poc

" It is now time that we arrange our key, as far as dis-
covered, in a tabular form, to avoid confusion. It will
stand thus :

5

represents

a

t

d

8

e

3

S

4

h

6

i

*

n

t

0

(

r

J

t

?

•

u

" We have, therefore, no less than eleven of the most
important letters represented, and it will be unnecessary to
proceed with the details of the solution. I have said enough
to convince you that ciphers of this nature are readily
soluble, and to give you some insight into the rationale of
their development. But be assured that the specimen before
us appertains to the very simplest species of cryptograph.
It now only remains to give you the full translation of the
characters upon the parchment, as unriddled. Here it is:

" ' A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's scat
forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes northeast and by
north main branch seventh limb east side shoot from the
left eye of the death's head a bee-line from the tree through
the shot fifty feet out.' "

" But," said I, " the enigma seems still in as bad a con-
dition as ever. How is it possible to extort a meaning from
all this jargon about ' devil's seats,' ' death's heads,' and
' bishop's hostels ' ? "

" I confess," replied Legrand, " that the matter still wears
a serious aspect, when regarded with a casual glance. My

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first endeavor was to divide the sentence into the natural
division intended by the cryptographist."

" You mean, to punctuate it ? "

*' Something of that kind."

■*' But how was it possible to effect this ? "

*' I reflected that it had been a point with the writer to
Tun his words together without division, so as to increase
the difficulty of solution. Now, a not overacute man, in
pursuing such an object, would be nearly certain to overdo
the matter. When, in the course of his composition, he
arrived at a break in his subject which would naturally
require a pause, or a point, he would be exceedingly apt to
run his characters, at this place, more than usually close
together. If you will observe the MS., in the present in-
stance, you will easily detect five such cases of unusual
crowding. Acting upon this hint, I made the division thus :

" ' A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat —
forty-one degrees and thirteen minutes — northeast and by
north — tnain branch seventh limb east side — shoot from the
left eye of the death's head — a bee-line from the tree through
the shot fifty feet out.' "

" Even this division," said I, " leaves me still in the
dark."

" It left me also in the dark," repHed Legrand, " for a
few days; during which I made diligent inquiry in the
neighborhood of Sullivan's Island, for any building which
went by name of the ' Bishop's Hotel ' ; for, of course, I
dropped the obsolete word ' hostel.' Gaining no informa-
tion on the subject, I was on the point of extending my
sphere of search, and proceeding in a more systematic man-
ner, when, one morning, it entered into my head, quite
suddenly, that this ' Bishop's Hostel ' might have some ref-
erence to an old family, of the name of Bessop, which, time
out of mind, had held possession of an ancient manor house,
about four miles to the northward of the island. I accord-
ingly went over to the plantation, and reinstituted my

1 60

Edzar Allan Poe

*<b

inquiries among the older negroes of the place. At length
one of the most aged of the women said that she had heard
of such a place as Bessop's Castle, and thought that she
could guide me to it, but that it was not a castle, nor a
tavern, but a high rock.

" I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after
some demur, she consented to accompany me to the spot.
We found it without much difficulty, when, dismissing her,
I proceeded to examine the place. The ' castle ' consisted
of an irregular assemblage of cliffs and rocks — one of the
latter being quite remarkable for its height as well as for
its insulated and artificial appearance. I clambered to its
apex, and then felt much at a loss as to what should be
next done.

" While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell upon a
narrow ledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a
yard below the summit upon which I stood. This ledge
projected about eighteen inches, and was not more than a
foot wide, while a niche in the cliff just above it gave it
a rude resemblance to one of the hollow-backed chairs used
by our ancestors. I made no doubt that here was the
' devil's seat ' alluded to in the MS., and now I seemed to
grasp the full secret of the riddle.

" The ' good glass,' I knew, could have reference to
nothing but a telescope ; for the word ' glass ' is rarely em-
ployed in any other sense by seamen. Now here, I at once
saw, was a telescope to be used, and a definite point of
view, admitting no variation, from which to use it. Nor
did I hesitate to believe that the phrases, ' forty-one degrees
and thirteen minutes,' and ' northeast and by north,' were
intended as directions for the leveling of the glass. Greatly
excited by these discoveries, I hurried home, procured a
telescope, and returned to the rock.

" I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was
impossible to retain a seat upon it except in one particular
position. This fact confirmed my preconceived idea. I
proceeded to use the glass. Of course, the ' forty-one de-
grees and thirteen minutes ' could allude to nothing but

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American Mystery Stories

elevation above the visible horizon, since the horizontal
direction was clearly indicated by the words, ' northeast
and by north.' This latter direction I at once established
by means of a pocket compass ; then, pointing the glass as
nearly at an angle of forty-one degrees of elevation as I
could do it by guess, I moved it cautiously up or down,
until my attention was arrested by a circular rift or open-
ing in tlie foliage of a large tree that overtopped its fellows
in the distance. In the center of this rift I perceived a
white spot, but could not, at first, distinguish what it was.
Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I again looked, and
now made it out to be a human skull.

" Upon this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider
the enigina solved ; for the phrase ' main branch, seventh
limb, east side,' could refer only to the position of the skull
upon the tree, while ' shoot from the left eye of the death's
liead ' admitted, also, of but one interpretation, in regard
to a search for buried treasure. I perceived that the design
was to drop a bullet from the left eye of the skull, and that
a bee-line, or, in other words, a straight line, drawn from
the nearest point of the trunk 'through the shot' (or the
spot where the bullet fell), and thence extended to a dis-
tance of fifty feet, would indicate a definite point — and
beneath this point I thought it at least possible that a deposit
of value lay concealed."

" All this," I said, " is exceedingly clear, and, although
ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the
Bishop's Hotel, what then ? "

" Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree,
I turned homeward. The instant that I left ' the devil's
seat,' however, the circular rift vanished ; nor could I get
a glimpse of it afterwards, turn as I would. What seems
to me the chief ingenuity in this whole business, is the fact
(for repeated experiment has convinced me it is a fact)
that the circular opening in question is visible from no other
attainable point of view than that afforded by the narrow
ledge upon the face of the rock.

" In this expedition to the ' Bishop's Hotel ' I had been

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Edgar Allan Poe

attended by Jupiter, who had, no doubt, observed, for some
weeks past, the abstraction of my demeanor, and took espe-
cial care not to leave me alone. But, on the next day,
getting up very early, I contrived to give him the slip, and
went into the hills in search of the tree. After much toil
I found it. When I came home at night my valet proposed
to give me a flogging. With the rest of the adventure I
believe you are as well acquainted as myself."

" I suppose," said I, " you missed the spot, in the first
attempt at digging, through Jupiter's stupidity in letting
the bug fall through the right instead of through the left
eye of the skull."

" Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about
two inches and a half in the * shot ' — that is to say, in the
position of the peg nearest the tree ; and had the treasure
been beneath the ' shot,' the error would have been of little
moment ; but ' the shot,' together with the nearest point of
the tree, were merely two points for the establishment of a
line of direction; of course the error, however trivial in
the beginning, increased as we proceeded with the line, and
by the time we had gone fifty feet threw us quite off the
scent. But for my deep-seated impressions that treasure
was here somewhere actually buried, we might have had
all our labor in vain."

" But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging
the beetle — how excessively odd! I was sure you were
mad. And why did you insist upon letting fall the bug,
instead of a bullet, from the skull ? "

" Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your
evident suspicions touching my sanity, and so resolved to
punish you quietly, in my own way, by a little bit of sober
mystification. For this reason I swung the beetle, and for
this reason I let it fall from the tree. An observation of
yours about its great weight suggested the latter idea."

" Yes, I perceive ; and now there is only one point which
puzzles me. What are we to make of the skeletons found
in the hole?"

" That is a question I am no more able to answer than

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yourself. There seems, however, only one plausible way
of accounting for them — and yet it is dreadful to believe in
such atrocity as my suggestion would imply. It is clear
that Kidd — if Kidd indeed secreted this treasure, which I
doubt not — it is clear that he must have had assistance in
the labor. But this labor concluded, he may have thought
it expedient to remove all participants in his secret. Per-
haps a couple of blows with a mattock were sufificient, while
his coadjutors were busy in the pit; perhaps it required a
dozen — who shall tell ? "

164

Washington Irving

Wolfert Webber or Golden Dreams

T N the year of grace one thousand seven hundred and —
blank — for I do not remember the precise date ; however,
it was somewhere in the early part of the last century, —
there lived in the ancient city of the Manhattoes a worthy
burgher, Wolfert Webber by name. He was descended from
old Cobus Webber of the Brill ^ in Holland, one of the
original settlers, famous for introducing the cultivation of
cabbages, and who came over to the province during the
protectorship of Olofife Van Kortlandt, otherwise called " the
Dreamer."

The field in which Cobus Webber first planted himself and
his cabbages had remained ever since in the family, who
continued in the same line of husbandry with that praise-
worthy perseverance for which our Dutch burghers are
noted. The whole family genius, during several genera-
tions, was devoted to the study and development of this one
noble vegetable, and to this concentration of intellect may
doubtless be ascribed the prodigious renown to which the
Webber cabbages attained.

The Webber dynasty continued in uninterrupted succes-
sion, and never did a line give more unquestionable proofs
of legitimacy. The eldest son succeeded to the looks as
well as the territory of his sire, and had the portraits
of this line of tranquil potentates been taken, they would
have presented a row of heads marvelously resembling,
in shape and magnitude, the vegetables over which they
reigned.

The seat of government continued unchanged in the

' The Brill is a fortified seaport of Holland, on the Meuse River,
near Rotterdam.

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American Mystery Stories

family mansion, — a Dutch-built house, with a front, or rather
gable end, of yellow brick, tapering to a point, with the
customary iron weathercock at the top. Everything about
the building bore the air of long-settled ease and security.
Flights of martins peopled the little coops nailed against its
walls, and swallows built their nests under the eaves, and
everyone knows that these house-loving birds bring good
luck to the dwelling where they take up their abode. In a
bright summer morning in early summer, it was delectable
to hear their cheerful notes as they sported about in the
pure, sweet air, chirping forth, as it were, the greatness and
prosperity of the Webbers.

Thus quietly and comfortably did this excellent family
vegetate under the shade of a mighty buttonwood tree, which
by little and little grew so great as entirely to overshadow
their palace. The city gradually spread its suburbs round
their domain. Houses sprang up to interrupt their pros-
pects. The rural lanes in the vicinity began to grow into
the bustle and populousness of streets ; in short, with all the
habits of rustic life they began to find themselves the inhab-
itants of a city. Still, however, they maintained their hered-
itary character and hereditary possessions, with all the
tenacity of petty German princes in the midst of the empire.
Wolfert was the last of the line, and succeeded to the patri-
archal bench at the door, under the family tree, and swayed
the scepter of his fathers, — a kind of rural potentate in the
midst of the metropolis.

To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty he had taken
unto himself a helpmate, one of that excellent kind called
" stirring women " ; that is to say, she was one of those nota-
ble little housewives who are always busy where there is
nothing to do. Her activity, however, took one particular
direction, — her whole life seemed devoted to intense knit-
ting; whether at home or abroad, walking or sitting, her
needles were continually in motion, and it is even affirmed
that by her unwearied industry she very nearly supplied her
household with stockings throughout the year. This worthy
couple were blessed with one daughte*" who was brought up

i66

Washington Irving

with great tenderness and care ; uncommon pains had been
taken with her education, so that she could stitch in every
variety of way, make all kinds of pickles and preserves, and
mark her own name on a sampler. The influence of her
taste was seen also in the family garden, where the orna-
mental began to mingle with the useful ; whole rows of fiery
marigolds and splendid hollyhocks bordered the cabbage
beds, and gigantic sunflowers lolled their broad, jolly faces
over the fences, seeming to ogle most affectionately the
passers-by.

Thus reigned and vegetated Wolfert Webber over his
paternal acres, peacefully and contentedly. Not but that,
like all other sovereigns, he had his occasional cares and
vexations. The growth of his native city sometimes caused
him annoyance. His little territory gradually became
hemmed in by streets and houses, which intercepted air and
sunshine. He was now and then subjected to the eruptions
of the border population that infest the streets of a metropo-
lis, who would make midnight forays into his dominions,
and carry off captive whole platoons of his noblest subjects.
Vagrant swine would make a descent, too, now and then,
when the gate was left open, and lay all waste before them ;
and mischievous urchins would decapitate the illustrious sun-
flowers, the glory of the garden, as they lolled their heads
so fondly over the walls. Still all these were petty griev-
ances, which might now and then ruffle the surface of his
mind, as a summer breeze will ruffle the surface of a mill
pond, but they could not disturb the deep-seated quiet of his
soul. He would but seize a trusty staff that stood behind
the door, issue suddenly out, and anoint the back of the
aggressor, whether pig or urchin, and then return within
doors, marvelously refreshed and tranquilized.

The chief cause of anxiety to honest Wolfert, however,
was the growing prosperity of the city. The expenses of
living doubled and trebled, but he could not double and
treble the magnitude of his cabbages, and the number of
competitors prevented the increase of price ; thus, therefore,
while everyone around him grew richer, Wolfert grew

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American Mystery Stories

poorer, and he could not, for the hfe of him, perceive how
the evil was to be remedied.

This growing care, which increased from day to day, had
its gradual effect upon our worthy burgher, insomuch that
it at length implanted two or three wrinkles in his brow,
things unknown before in the family of the Webbers, and
it seemed to pinch up the corners of his cocked hat into
an expression of anxiety totally opposite to the tranquil,
broad-brimmed, low-crowned beavers of his illustrious
progenitors.

Perhaps even this would not have i/ -nally disturbed the
serenity of his mind had he had only himself and his wife to
care for; but there was his daughter gradually growing to
maturity, and all the world knows that when daughters be-
gin to ripen, no fruit nor flower requires so much looking
after. I have no talent at describing female charms, else
fain would I depict the progress of this little Dutch beauty :
how her blue eyes grew deeper and deeper, and her cherry
lips redder and redder, and how she ripened and ripened,
and rounded and rounded, in the opening breath of sixteen
summers, until, in her seventeenth spring, she seemed ready
to burst out of her bodice, like a half-blown rosebud.

Ah, well-a-day! Could I but show her as she was then,
tricked out on a Sunday morning in the hereditary finery
of the old Dutch clothespress, of which her mother had con-
fided to her the key ! The wedding dress of her grand-
mother, modernized for use, with sundry ornaments, handed
down as heirlooms in the family. Her pale brown hair
smoothed with buttermilk in flat, waving lines on each side
of her fair forehead. The chain of yellow, virgin gold that
encircled her neck; the little cross that just rested at the
entrance of a soft valley of happiness, as if it would sanctify
the place. The — but pooh ! it is not for an old man like me
to be prosing about female beauty; suffice it to say, Amy
had attained her seventeenth year. Long since had her
sampler exhibited hearts in couples desperately transfixed
with arrows, and true lovers' knots worked in deep blue silk,
and it was evident she began to languish for some more

1 68

Washington Irving

interesting occupation than the rearing of sunflowers or
pickling of cucumbers.

At this critical period of female existence, when the heart
within a damsel's bosom, like its emblem, the miniature
which hangs without, is apt to be engrossed by a single
image, a new visitor began to make his appearance under
the roof of Wolfert Webber. This was Dirk Waldron, the
only son of a poor widow, but who could boast of more
fathers than any lad in the province, for his mother had had
four husbands, and this only child, so that, though born in
her last wedlock, he might fairly claim to be the tardy fruit
of a long course of cultivation. This son of four fathers
united the merits and the vigor of all his sires. If he had
not had a great family before him he seemed likely to have
a great one after him, for you had only to look at the fresh,
buxom youth to see that he was formed to be the founder
of a mighty race.

This youngster gradually became an intimate visitor of
the family. He talked little, but he sat long. He filled the
father's pipe when it was empty, gathered up the mother's
knitting needle, or ball of worsted, when it fell to the
ground, stroked the sleek coat of the tortoise-shell cat, and
replenished the teapot for the daughter from the bright cop-
per kettle that sang before the fire. All these quiet little
offices may seem of trifling import, but when true love is
translated into Low Dutch it is in this way that it eloquently
expresses itself. They were not lost upon the Webber fam-
ily. The winning youngster found marvelous favor in the
eyes of the mother; the tortoise-shell cat, albeit the most
staid and demure of her kind, gave indubitable signs of
approbation of his visits ; the teakettle seemed to sing out a
cheering note of welcome at his approach; and if the sly
glances of the daughter might be rightly read, as she sat
bridling and dimpling, and sewing by her mother's side, she
was not a whit behind Dame Webber, or grimalkin, or the
teakettle, in good will.

Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going on. Pro-
foundly wrapt up in meditation on the growth of the city

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and his cabbages, he sat looking in the fire, and puffing his
pipe in silence. One night, however, as the gentle Amy,
according to custom, lighted her lover to the outer door,
and he, according to custom, took his parting salute, the
smack resounded so vigorously through the long, silent entry
as to startle even the dull ear of Wolfert. He was slowly
roused to a new source of anxiety. It had never entered
into his head that this mere child, who, as it seemed, but the
other day had been climbing about his knees and playing
with dolls and baby houses, could all at once be thinking of
lovers and matrimony. He rubbed his eyes, examined into
the fact, and really found that while he had been dreaming
of other matters, she had actually grown to be a woman,
and, what was worse, had fallen in love. Here arose new
cares for Wolfert. He was a kind father, but he was a
prudent man. The young man was a lively, stirring lad,
but then he had neither money nor land. Wolfert's ideas
all ran in one channel, and he saw no alternative in case
of a marriage but to portion ofif the young couple with a
corner of his cabbage garden, the whole of which was barely
sufficient for the support of his family.

Like a prudent father, therefore, he determined to nip this
passion in the bud, and forbade the youngster the house,
though sorely did it go against his fatherly heart, and many
a silent tear did it cause in the bright eye of his daughter.
She showed herself, however, a pattern of filial piety and
obedience. She never pouted and sulked ; she never flew in
the face of parental authority ; she never flew into a passion,
nor fell into hysterics, as many romantic, novel-read young
ladies would do. Not she, indeed. She was none such
heroical, rebellious trumpery, I'll warrant ye. On the con-
trary, she acquiesced like an obedient daughter, shut the
street door in her lover's face, and if ever she did grant him
an interview, it was either out of the kitchen window or
over the garden fence.

Wolfert was deeply cogitating these matters in his mind,
and his brow wrinkled with unusual care, as he wended his
way one Saturday afternoon to a rural inn, about two miles

170

Washington Irving

from the city. It was a favorite resort of the Dutch part
of the community, from being always held by a Dutch line
of landlords, and retaining an air and relish of the good old
times. It was a Dutch-built house, that had probably been
a country seat of some opulent burgher in the early time of
the settlement. It stood near a point of land called Corlear's
Hook,^ which stretches out into the Sound, and against
which the tide, at its flux and reflux, sets with extraordi-
nary rapidity. The venerable and somewhat crazy man-
sion was distinguished from afar by a grove of elms and
sycamores that seemed to wave a hospitable invitation,
while a few weeping willows, with their dank, drooping
foliage, resembling falling waters, gave an idea of cool-
ness that rendered it an attractive spot during the heats of
summer.

Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the old in-
habitants of the Manhattoes, where, while some played at
shuffleboard - and quoits,^ and ninepins, others smoked a de-
liberate pipe, and talked over public affairs.

It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon that Wolfert
made his visit to the inn. The grove of elms and willows
was stripped of its leaves, which whirled in rustling eddies
about the fields. The ninepin alley was deserted, for the
premature chilliness of the day had driven the company
within doors. As it was Saturday afternoon the habitual
club was in session, composed principally of regular Dutch
burghers, though mingled occasionally with persons of
various character and country, as is natural in a place of
such motley population.

Beside the fireplace, in a huge, leather-bottomed arm-
chair, sat the dictator of this little world, the venerable Rem,
or, as it was pronounced, " Ranim " Rapelye. He was a

» A point of land at the bend of the East River below Grand
Street, New York City.

2 A game played by pushing or shaking pieces of money or metal
so as to make them reach certain marks on a board.

3 A game played by pitching a flattened, ring-shaped piece of
iron, called a quoit, at a fixed object.

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man of Walloon ^ race, and illustrious for the antiquity of
his line, his great-grandmother having been the first white
child born in the province. But he was still more illustrious
for his wealth and dignity. He had long filled the noble
office of alderman, and was a man to whom the governor
himself took off his hat. He had maintained possession of
the leather-bottomed chair from time immemorial, and had
gradually waxed in bulk as he sat in his seat of government,
until in the course of years he filled its whole magnitude.
His word was decisive with his subjects, for he was so rich
a man that he was never expected to support any opinion by
argument. The landlord waited on him with pecuHar offi-
ciousness, — not that he paid better than his neighbors, but
then the coin of a rich man seems always to be so much
more acceptable. The landlord had ever a pleasant word
and a joke to insinuate in the ear of the august Ramm. It
is true Ramm never laughed, and, indeed, ever maintained
a mastiff-like gravity and even surliness of aspect; yet he
now and then rewarded mine host with a token of approba-
tion, which, though nothing more nor less than a kind of
grunt, still delighted the landlord more than a broad laugh

from a poorer man.

" This will be a rough night for the money diggers," said

mine host, as a gust of wind howled round the house and

rattled at the windows.

" What ! are they at their works again ? " said an English

half-pay captain, with one eye, who was a very frequent

attendant at the inn.

" Aye are they," said the landlord, " and well may they

be. They've had luck of late. They say a great pot of

money has been dug up in the fields just behind Stuyvesant's

orchard. Folks think it must have been buried there in old

times by Peter Stuyvesant, the Dutch governor."

" Fudg-e ! " said the one-eved man of war, as he added a

small portion of water to a bottom of brandy.

1 A people of French origin, inhabiting the frontiers between
France and Flanders. A colony of one hundred and ten Walloons
came to New York in 1624.

172

Washington Irving

" Well, you may believe it or not, as you please," said
mine host, somewhat nettled, " but everybody knows that
the old governor buried a great deal of his money at the
time of the Dutch troubles, when the English redcoats seized
on the province. They say, too, the old gentleman walks,
aye, and in the very same dress that he wears in the picture
that hangs up in the family house."

" Fudge ! " said the half-pay officer.

" Fudge, if you please ! But didn't Corney Van Zandt see
him at midnight, stalking about in the meadow with his
wooden leg, and a drawn sword in his hand, that flashed
like fire? And what can he be walking for but because
people have been troubling the place where he buried his
money in old times ? "

Here the landlord was interrupted by several guttural
sounds from Ramm Rapelye, betokening that he was labor-
ing with the unusual production of an idea. As he was too
great a man to be slighted by a prudent publican, mine host
respectfully paused until he should deliver himself. The
corpulent frame of this mighty burgher now gave all the
symptoms of a volcanic mountain on the point of an erup-
tion. First there was a certain heaving of the abdomen, not
unlike an earthquake ; then was emitted a cloud of tobacco
smoke from that crater, his mouth ; then there was a kind
of rattle in the throat, as if the idea were working its way
up through a region of phlegm; then there were several
disjointed members of a sentence thrown out, ending in a
cough ; at length his voice forced its way into a slow, but
absolute tone of a man who feels the weight of his purse,
if not of his ideas, every portion of his speech being marked
by a testy puff of tobacco smoke.

"Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walking? (puff).
Have people no respect for persons? (puff — puff). Peter
Stuyvesant knew better what to do with his money than to
bury it (puff). I know the Stuyvesant family (puff), every
one of them (puff) ; not a more respectable family in the
province (puff) — old standards (puff) — warm householders
(puff) — none of your upstarts (puff — puff — puff). Don't

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talk to me of Peter Stuyvesant's walking (puff — puff —
puff— puff)."

Here the redoubtable Ramm contracted his brow, clasped
up his mouth till it wrinkled at each corner, and redoubled
his smoking with such vehemence that the cloudy volumes
soon wreathed round his head, as the smoke envelops the
awful summit of Mount ^tna.

A general silence followed the sudden rebuke of this very
rich man. The subject, however, was too interesting to be
readily abandoned. The conversation soon broke forth again
from the lips of Peechy Prauw Van Hook, the chronicler of
the club, one of those prosing, narrative old men who seem to
be troubled with an incontinence of words as they grow old.

Peechy could, at any time, tell as many stories in an even-
ing as his hearers could digest in a month. He now resumed
the conversation by affirming that, to his knowledge, money
had, at different times, been digged up in various parts of
the island. The lucky persons who had discovered them had
always dreamed of them three times beforehand, and, what
was worthy of remark, those treasures had never been found
but by some descendant of the good old Dutch families,
which clearly proved that they had been buried by Dutch-
men in the olden time.

" Fiddlestick with your Dutchmen ! " cried the half-pay
officer. " The Dutch had nothing to do with them. They
were all buried by Kidd the pirate, and his crew."

Here a keynote was touched that roused the whole com-
pany. The name of Captain Kidd was like a talisman in
those times, and was associated with a thousand marvelous
stories.

The half-pay officer took the lead, and in his narrations
fathered upon Kidd all the plunderings and exploits of Mor-
gan,^ Blackbeard,- and the whole list of bloody buccaneers.

'Sir Henry Morgan (1637-90), a noted Welsh buccaneer. He
was captured and sent to England for trial, but Charles II., instead
of punishing him, knighted him, and subsequently appointed him
governor of Jamaica.

' Edward Teach, one of the most cruel of the pirates, took com-

Washington Irving

The officer was a man of great weight among the peace-
able members of the ckib, by reason of his warHke character
and gunpowder tales. All his golden stories of Kidd, how-
ever, and of the booty he had buried, were obstinately rivaled
by the tales of Peechy Prauw, who, rather than suffer his
Dutch progenitors to be eclipsed by a foreign freebooter, en-
riched every field and shore in the neighborhood with the
hidden wealth of Peter Stuyvesant and his contemporaries.

Not a word of this conversation was lost upon Wolfert
Webber. He returned pensively home, full of magnificent
ideas. The soil of his native island seemed to be turned into
gold dust, and every field to teem with treasure. His head
almost reeled at the thought how often he must have heed-
lessly rambled over places where countless sums lay, scarcely
covered by the turf beneath his feet. His mind was in an
uproar with this whirl of new ideas. As he came in sight
of the venerable mansion of his forefathers, and the little
realm where the Webbers had so long and so contentedly
flourished, his gorge rose at the narrowness of his destiny.

" Unlucky Wolfert ! " exclaimed he ; " others can go to
bed and dream themselves into whole mines of wealth ; they
have but to seize a spade in the morning, and turn up
doubloons ^ like potatoes ; but thou must dream of hardships,
and rise to poverty, must dig thy field from year's end to
year's end, and yet raise nothing but cabbages ! "

Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy heart, and it
was long before the golden visions that disturbed his brain
permitted him to sink into repose. The same visions, how-
ever, extended into his sleeping thoughts, and assumed a
more definite form. He dreamed that he had discovered an
immense treasure in the center of his garden. At every
stroke of the spade he laid bare a golden ingot ; diamond
crosses sparkled out of the dust ; bags of money turned up

mand of a pirate ship in 1 7 1 7 , and thereafter committed all sorts of
atrocities until he was slain by Lieutenant Maynard in 17 18. His
nickname of "Blackbeard" was given him because of his black
beard.

1 Spanish gold coins, equivalent to $15.60.

American Mystery Stories

their bellies, corpulent with pieces-of-eight ^ or venerable
doubloons ; and chests wedged close with moidores,^ ducats,^
and pistareens,* yawned before his ravished eyes, and vom-
ited forth their glittering contents.

Wolfert awoke a poorer man than ever. He had no heart
to go about his daily concerns, which appeared so paltry and
profitless, but sat all day long in the chimney corner, pictur-
ing to himself ingots and heaps of gold in the fire. The
next night his dream was repeated. He was again in his
garden digging, and laying open stores of hidden wealth.
There was something very singular in this repetition. He
passed another day of reverie, and though it was clean-
ing day, and the house, as usual in Dutch households, com-
pletely topsy-turvy, yet he sat unmoved amidst the general
uproar.

The third night he went to bed with a palpitating heart.
He put on his red nightcap wrong side outward, for good
luck. It was deep midnight before his anxious mind could
settle itself into sleep. Again the golden dream was re-
peated, and again he saw his garden teeming with ingots and
money bags.

Wolfert rose the next morning in complete bewilderment.
A dream, three times repeated, was never known to lie, and
if so, his fortune was made.

In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with the hind part
before, and this was a corroboration of good luck.° He no
longer doubted that a huge store of money lay buried some-
where in his cabbage field, coyly waiting to be sought for,
and he repined at having so long been scratching about the
surface of the soil instead of digging to the center.

He took his seat at the breakfast table, full of these specu-
lations, asked his daughter to put a lump of gold into his

' Spanish coins, worth about $i each.

* Portuguese gold coins, valued at $6.50.

» Coins of gold and silver, valued at $2 and $1 respectively.

• Spanish silver coins, worth about $.20.

» It is an old superstition that to put on one's clothes wrong side
out forebodes good luck.

176

Washington Irving

tea, and on handing his wife a plate of slapjacks, begged her
to help herself to a doubloon.

His grand care now was how to secure this immense treas-
ure without its being known. Instead of his working regularly
in his grounds in the daytime, he now stole from his bed at
night, and with spade and pickax went to work to rip up
and dig about his paternal acres, from one end to the other.
In a little time the whole garden, which had presented such
a goodly and regular appearance, with its phalanx of cab-
bages, like a vegetable army in battle array, was reduced to
a scene of devastation, while the relentless Wolfert, with
nightcap on head and lantern and spade in hand, stalked
through the slaughtered ranks, the destroying angel of his
own vegetable world.

Every morning bore testimony to the ravages of the pre-
ceding night in cabbages of all ages and conditions, from
the tender sprout to the full-grown head, piteously rooted
from their quiet beds like worthless weeds, and left to
wither in the sunshine. In vain Wolfert's wife remon-
strated ; in vain his darling daughter wept over the destruc-
tion of some favorite marigold. " Thou shalt have gold of
another-guess ^ sort," he would cry, chucking her under the
chin ; " thou shalt have a string of crooked ducats for thy
wedding necklace, my child." His family began really to
fear that the poor man's wits were diseased. He muttered
in his sleep at night about mines of wealth, about pearls and
diamonds, and bars of gold. In the daytime he was moody
and abstracted, and walked about as if in a trance. Dame
Webber held frequent councils with all the old women of
the neighborhood; scarce an hour in the day but a knot of
them might be seen wagging their white caps together round
her door, while the poor woman made some piteous recital.
The daughter, too, was fain to seek for more frequent con-
solation from the stolen interviews of her favored swain.
Dirk Waldron. The delectable little Dutch songs with which

1 A corruption of the old expression "another-gates," or "of an-
other gate," meaning "of another way or manner" ; hence, "of
another kind."

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American Mystery Stories

she used to dulcify the house grew less and less frequent,
and she would forget her sewing, and look wistfully in her
father's face as he sat pondering by the fireside. Wolfert
caught her eye one day fixed on him thus anxiously, and for
a. moment was roused from his golden reveries. " Cheer up,
my girl," said he exultingly ; '* why dost thou droop ? Thou
shalt hold up thy head one day with the Brinckerhoffs, and
the Schermerhorns, the Van Homes, and the Van Dams.^
By St. Nicholas, but the patroon - himself shall be glad to
get thee for his son ! "

Amy shook her head at his vainglorious boast, and was
more than ever in doubt of the soundness of the good man's
intellect.

In the meantime Wolfert went on digging and digging;
but the field was extensive, and as his dream had indicated
no precise spot, he had to dig at random. The winter set in
before one tenth of the scene of promise had been explored.

The ground became frozen hard, and the nights too cold
for the labors of the spade.

No sooner, however, did the returning warmth of spring
loosen the soil, and the small frogs begin to pipe in the
meadows, but Wolfert resumed his labors with renovated
zeal. Still, however, the hours of industry were reversed.

Instead of working cheerily all day, planting and setting
out his vegetables, he remained thoughtfully idle, until the
shades of night summoned him to his secret labors. In this
way he continued to dig from night to night, and week to
week, and month to month, but not a stiver ^ did he find.
On the contrary, the more he digged the poorer he grew.
The rich soil of his garden was digged away, and the sand

1 Names of rich and influential Dutch families in the old Dutch
colony of New Amsterdam.

=> The patroons were members of the Dutch West India Company,
who purchased land in New Netherlands of the Indians, and after
fulfilling certain conditions imposed with a view to colonizing their
territory, enjoyed feudal rights similar to those of the barons of the
Middle Ages.

3 A Dutch coin, worth about two cents; hence, anything of little
"worth.

178

Washington Irving

and gravel from beneath was thrown to the surface, until
the whole field presented an aspect of sandy barrenness.

In the meantime, the seasons gradually rolled on. The
little frogs which had piped in the meadows in early spring
croaked as bullfrogs during the summer heats, and then sank
into silence. The peach tree budded, blossomed, and bore
its fruit. The swallows and martins came, twittered about
the roof, built their nests, reared their young, held their
congress along the eaves, and then winged their flight in
search of another spring. The caterpillar spun its winding
sheet, dangled in it from the great buttonwood tree before
the house, turned into a moth, fluttered with the last sun-
shine of summer, and disappeared; and finally the leaves
of the buttonwood tree turned yellow, then brown, then
rustled one by one to the ground, and whirling about in
little eddies of wind and dust, whispered that winter was
at hand.

Wolfert gradually woke from his dream of wealth as the
year declined. He had reared no crop for the supply of his
household during the sterility of winter. The season was
long and severe, and for the first time the family was really
straitened in its comforts. By degrees a revulsion of thought
took place in Wolfert's mind, common to those whose golden
dreams have been disturbed by pinching realities. The idea
gradually stole upon him that he should come to want. He
already considered himself one of the most unfortunate men
in the province, having lost such an incalculable amount of
undiscovered treasure, and now, when thousands of pounds
had eluded his search, to be perplexed for shillings and
pence was cruel in the extreme.

Haggard care gathered about his brow; he went about
with a money-seeking air, his eyes bent downward into the
dust, and carrying his hands in his pockets, as men are apt
to do when they have nothing else to put into them. He
could not even pass the city almshouse without giving it a
rueful glance, as if destined to be his future abode.

The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks occa-
sioned much speculation and remark. For a long time he

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American Mystery Stories

was suspected of being crazy, and then everybody pitied
him ; and at length it began to be suspected that he was poor,
and then everybody avoided him.

The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met him out-
side of the door when he called, entertained him hospitably
on the threshold, pressed him warmly by the hand at part-
ing, shook their heads as he walked away, with the kind-
hearted expression of " poor Wolfert," and turned a corner
nimbly if by chance they saw him approaching as they
walked the streets. Even the barber and the cobbler of the
neighborhood, and a tattered tailor in an alley hard by, three
of the poorest and merriest rogues in the world, eyed him
with that abundant sympathy which usually attends a lack
of means, and there is not a doubt but their pockets would
have been at his command, only that they happened to be
empty.

Thus everybody deserted the Webber mansion, as if
poverty were contagious, like the plague — everybody but
honest Dirk Waldron, who still kept up his stolen \'-isits to
the daughter, and indeed seemed to wax more affectionate
as the fortunes of his mistress were on the wane.

Many months had elapsed since Wolfert had frequented
his old resort, the rural inn. He was taking a long, lonely
walk one Saturday afternoon, musing over his wants and
disappointments, when his feet took instinctively their
wonted direction, and on awaking out of a reverie, he found
himself before the door of the inn. For some moments he
hesitated whether to enter, but his heart yearned for com-
panionship, and where can a ruined man find better compan-
ionship than at a tavern, where there is neither sober exam-
ple nor sober advice to put him out of countenance ?

Wolfert found several of the old frequenters of the inn
at their usual posts and seated in their usual places ; but one
was missing, the great Ramm Rapelye, who for many years
had filled the leather-bottomed chair of state. His place was
supplied by a stranger, who seemed, however, completely at
home in the chair and the tavern. He was rather under
size, but deep-chested, square, and muscular. His broad

1 80

IVashington Irving

shoulders, double joints, and bow knees gave tokens of pro-
digious strength. His face was dark and weather-beaten ;
a deep scar, as if from the slash of a cutlass, had almost
divided his nose, and made a gash in his upper lip, through
which his teeth shone like a bulldog's. A mop of iron-gray
hair gave a grisly finish to this hard-favored visage. His
dress was of an amphibious character. He wore an old hat
edged with tarnished lace, and cocked in martial style on
one side of his head ; a rusty ^ blue military coat with brass
buttons ; and a wide pair of short petticoat trousers, — or
rather breeches, for they were gathered up at the knees. He
ordered everybody about him with an authoritative air, talk-
ing in a brattling ^ voice that sounded like the crackling of
thorns under a pot, d — d the landlord and servants with
perfect impunity, and was waited upon with greater obse-
quiousness than had ever been shown to the mighty Ramm
himself.

Wolfert's curiosity was awakened to know who and what
was this stranger who had thus usurped absolute sway in
this ancient domain. Peechy Prauw took him aside into a
remote corner of the hall, and there, in an under voice and
with great caution, imparted to him all that he knew on the
subject. The inn had been aroused several months before,
on a dark, stormy night, by repeated long shouts that seemed
like the bowlings of a wolf. They came from the water
side, and at length were distinguished to be hailing the house
in the seafaring manner, " House ahoy ! " The landlord
turned out with his head waiter, tapster, hostler, and errand
boy — that is to say, with his old negro Cuff. On approach-
ing the place whence the voice proceeded, they found this
amphibious-looking personage at the water's edge, quite
alone, and seated on a great oaken sea chest. How he came
there, — whether he had been set on shore from some boat,
or had floated to land on his chest, — nobody could tell, for
he did not seem disposed to answer questions, and there was
something in his looks and manners that put a stop to all
questioning. Suffice it to say, he took possession of a corner

> Shabby. * Noisy.

i8i

American Mystery Stories

room of the inn, to which his chest was removed with great
difficulty. Here he had remained ever since, keeping about
the inn and its vicinity. Sometimes, it is true, he disap-
peared for one, two, or three days at a time, going and re-
turning without giving any notice or account of his move-
ments. He always appeared to have plenty of money, though
often of very strange, outlandish coinage, and he regularly
paid his bill every evening before turning in.

He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, having slung
a hammock from the ceiling instead of a bed, and decorated
the walls with rusty pistols and cutlasses of foreign work-
manship. A greater part of his time was passed in this
room, seated by the window, which commanded a wide view
of the Sound, a short, old-fashioned pipe in his mouth, a
glass of rum toddy ^ at his elbow, and a pocket telescope in
his hand, with which he reconnoitered every boat that moved
upon the water. Large square-rigged vessels seemed to ex-
cite but little attention ; but the moment he descried anything
with a shoulder-of-mutton ^ sail, or that a barge or yawl or
jolly-boat hove in sight, up went the telescope, and he ex-
amined it with the most scrupulous attention.

All this might have passed without much notice, for in
those times the province was so much the resort of adven-
turers of all characters and climes that any oddity in dress
or behavior attracted but small attention. In a little while,
however, this strange sea monster, thus strangely cast upon
dry land, began to encroach upon the long established cus-
toms and customers of the place, and to interfere in a dicta-
torial manner in the affairs of the ninepin alley and the bar-
room, until in the end he usurped an absolute command over
the whole inn. It was all in vain to attempt to withstand his
authority. He was not exactly quarrelsome, but boisterous
and peremptory, like one accustomed to tyrannize on a quar-
ter-deck ; and there was a dare-devil ^ air about everything
he said and did that inspired wariness in all bystanders.
Even the half-pay officer, so long the hero of the club, was

* A mixture of rum and hot water sweetened.
» Triangular. ' Reckless.

182

Washington Irving

soon silenced by him, and the quiet burghers stared with
wonder at seeing their inflammable man of war so readily
and quietly extinguished.

And then the tales that he would tell were enough to
make a peaceable man's hair stand on end. There was not
a sea fight, nor marauding nor freebooting adventure that
had happened within the last twenty years, but he seemed
perfectly versed in it. He delighted to talk of the exploits
of the buccaneers in the West Indies and on the Spanish
Main.^ How his eyes would glisten as he described the way-
laying of treasure ships ; the desperate fights, yardarm and
yardarm,^ broadside and broadside ; ^ the boarding and cap-
turing huge Spanish galleons ! With what chuckling relish
would he describe the descent upon some rich Spanish colony,
the rifling of a church, the sacking of a convent ! You would
have thought you heard some gormandizer dilating upon the
roasting of a savory goose at Michaelmas,* as he described
the roasting of some Spanish don to make him discover his
treasure, — a detail given with a minuteness that made every
rich old burgher present turn uncomfortably in his chair.
All this would be told with infinite glee, as if he considered
it an excellent joke, and then he would give such a tyran-
nical leer in the face of his next neighbor that the poor man
would be fain to laugh out of sheer faint-heartedness. If
anyone, however, pretended to contradict him in any of his
stories, he was on fire in an instant. His very cocked hat
assumed a momentary fierceness, and seemed to resent the
contradiction. " How the devil should you know as well
as I ? I tell you it was as I say ; " and he would at the same

' The coast of the northern part of South America along the Car-
ibbean Sea, the route formerly traversed by the Spanish treasure
ships between the Old and New Worlds.

' Ships are said to be yardarm and yardarm when so near as to
touch or interlock their yards, which are the long pieces of timber
designed to support and extend the square sails.

8 "Broadside and broadside," i.e., with the side of one ship touch-
ing that of another.

* The Feast of the Archangel Michael, a church festival celebrated
on September 29th.

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American Mystery Stories

time let slip a broadside of thundering oaths ^ and tremen-
dous sea phrases, such as had never been heard before
within these peaceful walls.

Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise that he
knew more of those stories than mere hearsay. Day after
day their conjectures concerning him grew more and more
wild and fearful. The strangeness of his arrival, the
strangeness of his manners, the mystery that surrounded
him, — all made him something incomprehensible in their
eyes. He was a kind of monster of the deep to them ; he
was a merman, he was a behemoth, he was a leviathan, — in
short, they knew not what he was.

The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea urchin at
length grew quite intolerable. He was no respecter of per-
sons ; he contradicted the richest burghers without hesita-
tion ; he took possession of the sacred elbow chair, which
time out of mind had been the seat of sovereignty of the
illustrious Ramm Rapelye. Nay, he even went so far, in
one of his rough, jocular moods, as to slap that mighty
burgher on the back, drink his toddy, and wink in his face,
— a thing scarcely to be believed. From this time Ramm
Rapelye appeared no more at the inn. His example was
followed by several of the most eminent customers, who
were too rich to tolerate being bullied out of their opinions
or being obliged to laugh at another man's jokes. The land-
lord was almost in despair ; but he knew not how to get rid
of this sea monster and his sea chest, who seemed both to
have grown like fixtures, or excrescences, on his establish-
ment.

Such was the account whispered cautiously in Wolfert's
ear by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as he held him by the
button in a corner of the hall, casting a wary glance now
and then toward the door of the barroom, lest he should
be overheard by the terrible hero of his tale.

Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the room in
silence, impressed with profound awe of this unknown, so
versed in freebooting history. It was to him a wonderful
* "Broadside of thundering oaths," i.e., a volley of abuse.

184

Washington Irving

instance of the revolutions of mighty empires, to find the
venerable Ramm Rapelye thus ousted from the throne, and
a rugged tarpaulin ^ dictating from his elbow chair, hector-
ing the patriarchs, and filling this tranquil little realm with
brawl and bravado.

The stranger was, on this evening, in a more than usu-
ally communicative mood, and was narrating a number of
astounding stories of plunderings and burnings on the high
seas. He dwelt upon them with peculiar relish, heightening
the frightful particulars in proportion to their effect on his
peaceful auditors. He gave a swaggering detail of the cap-
ture of a Spanish merchantman. She was lying becalmed
during a long summer's day, just off from the island which
was one of the lurking places of the pirates. They had
reconnoitered her with their spyglasses from the shore, and
ascertained her character and force. At night a picked crew
of daring fellows set off for her in a whaleboat. They ap-
proached with muffled oars, as she lay rocking idly with the
undulations of the sea, and her sails flapping against the
masts. They were close under the stern before the guard
on deck was aware of their approach. The alarm was given ;
the pirates threw hand grenades - on deck, and sprang up
the main chains,^ sword in hand.

The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion ; some were
shot down, others took refuge in the tops, others were driven
overboard and drowned, while others fought hand to hand
from the main deck to the quarter-deck, disputing gallantly
every inch of ground. There were three Spanish gentlemen
on board, with their ladies, who made the most desperate
resistance. They defended the companion way,* cut down

1 A kind of canvas used about a ship; hence, a sailor.

2 "Hand grenades," i.e., small shells of iron or glass filled with
gunpowder and thrown by hand.

3 "Main chains," i.e., strong bars of iron bolted at the lower end
to the side of a vessel, and secured at the upper end to the iron
straps of the blocks by which the shrouds supporting the masts are
extended.

* The companion way is a staircase leading to the cabin of a ship.

185

American Mystery Stories

several of their assailants, and fought like very devils, for
they were maddened by the shrieks of the ladies from the
cabin. One of the dons was old, and soon dispatched. The
other two kept their ground vigorously, even though the
captain of the pirates was among their assailants. Just then
there was a shout of victory from the main deck. " The
ship is ours ! " cried the pirates.

One of the dons immediately dropped his sword and sur-
rendered; the other, who was a hot-headed youngster, and
just married, gave the captain a slash in the face that laid
all open. The captain just made out to articulate the words,
" No quarter."

" And what did they do with their prisoners ? " said
Peechy Prauw eagerly.

" Threw them all overboard," was the answer. A dead
pause followed the reply. Peechy Prauw sank quietly back,
like a man who had unwarily stolen upon the lair of a sleep-
ing lion. The honest burghers cast fearful glances at the
deep scar slashed across the visage of the stranger, and
moved their chairs a little farther off. The seaman, how-
ever, smoked on without moving a muscle, as though he
either did not perceive, or did not regard, the unfavorable
effect he had produced upon his hearers.

The half-pay officer was the first to break the silence, for
he was continually tempted to make ineffectual head against
this tyrant of the seas, and to regain his lost consequence in
the eyes of his ancient companions. He now tried to match
the gunpowder tales of the stranger by others equally tre-
mendous. Kidd, as usual, was his hero, concerning whom
he seemed to have picked up many of the floating traditions
of the province. The seaman had always evinced a settled
pique against the one-eyed warrior. On this occasion he
listened with peculiar impatience. He sat with one arm
akimbo, the other elbow on the table, the hand holding on
to the small pipe he was pettishly puffing, his legs crossed,
drumming with one foot on the ground, and casting every
now and then the side glance of a basilisk at the prosing
captain. At length the latter spoke of Kidd's having as-

i86

Washington Irving

cended the Hudson with some of his crew, to land his plun-
der in secrecy.

" Kidd up the Hudson ! " burst forth the seaman, with a
tremendous oath ; " Kidd never was up the Hudson ! "

" I tell you he was," said the other. " Aye, and they say
he buried a quantity of treasure on the little flat that runs
out into the river, called the Devil's Dans Kammer." ^

" The Devil's Dans Kammer in your teeth ! " - cried the
seaman. " I tell you Kidd never was up the Hudson. What
a plague do you know of Kidd and his haunts ? "

" What do I know ? " echoed the half-pay officer. " Why^
I was in London at the time of his trial ; aye, and I had the
pleasure of seeing him hanged at Execution Dock."

" Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as pretty a fellow
hanged as ever trod shoe leather. Aye ! " putting his face
nearer to that of the officer, " and there was many a land-
lubber ^ looked on that might much better have swung in
his stead."

The half-pay officer was silenced ; but the indignation thus
pent up in his bosom glowed with intense vehemence in his
single eye, which kindled like a coal.

Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent, observed
that the gentleman certainly was in the right. Kidd never
did bury money up the Hudson, nor indeed in any of those
parts, though many affirmed such to be the fact. It was
Bradish * and others of the buccaneers who had buried

1 A huge, flat rock, projecting into the Hudson River above the
Highlands.

s " In your teeth," a phrase to denote direct opposition or defiance.

» A term of contempt used by seamen for those who pass their
lives on land.

* Bradish was a pirate whose actions were blended in the popular
mind with those of Kidd. He was boatswain of a ship which sailed
from England in 1697, and which, like Kidd's, bore the name of the
Adventure. In the absence of the captain on shore, he seized the
ship and set out on a piratical cruise. After amassing a fortune,
he sailed for America and deposited a large amount of his wealth
with a confederate on Long Island. He was apprehended in Rhode
Island, sent to England, and executed.

American Mystery Stories

money, some said in Turtle Bay/ others on Long Island,
others in the neighborhood of Hell Gate. " Indeed," added
he, " I recollect an adventure of Sam, the negro fisherman,
many years ago, which some think had something to do with
the buccaneers. As we are all friends here, and as it will
go no further, I'll tell it to you.

" Upon a dark night many years ago, as Black Sam was
returning from fishing in Hell Gate "

Here the story was nipped in the bud by a sudden move-
ment from the unknown, who, laying his iron fist on the
table, knuckles downward, with a quiet force that indented
the very boards, and looking grimly over his shoulder, with
the grin of an angry bear, — " Hearkee, neighbor," said he,
with significant nodding of the head, " you'd better let the
buccaneers and their money alone ; they're not for old men
and old women to meddle with. They fought hard for their
money — they gave body and soul for it ; and wherever it
lies buried, depend upon it he must have a tug with the devil
who gets it ! "

This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank silence
throughout the room. Peechy Prauw shrunk within him-
self, and even the one-eyed ofl[icer turned pale. Wolfert,
who from a dark corner of the room had listened with in-
tense eagerness to all this talk about buried treasure, looked
with mingled awe and reverence at this bold buccaneer, for
such he really suspected him to be. There was a chinking
of gold and a sparkling of jewels in all his stories about
the Spanish Main that gave a value to every period, and
Wolfert would have given anything for the rummaging of
the ponderous sea chest, which his imagination crammed
full of golden chalices, crucifixes, and jolly round bags of
doubloons.

The dead stillness that had fallen upon the company w'as
at length interrupted by the stranger, who pulled out a pro-
digious watch of curious and ancient workmanship, and
which in Wolfert's eyes had a decidedly Spanish look. On

> A small cove in the East River two miles north of Corlear's
Hook.

1 88

Washington Irving

touching a spring, it struck ten o'clock, upon which the sailor
called for his reckoning, and having paid it out of a handful
of outlandish coin, he drank off the remainder of his bever-
age, and without taking leave of anyone, rolled out of the
room, muttering to himself as he stamped upstairs to his
chamber.

It was some time before the company could recover from
the silence into which they had been thrown. The very foot-
steps of the stranger, which were heard now and then as
he traversed his chamber, inspired awe.

Still the conversation in which they had been engaged was
too interesting not to be resumed. A heavy thunder gust
had gathered up unnoticed while they were lost in talk, and
the torrents of rain that fell forbade all thoughts of setting
off for home until the storm should subside. They drew
nearer together, therefore, and entreated the worthy Peechy
Prauw to continue the tale which had been so discourteously
interrupted. He readily complied, whispering, however, in
a tone scarcely above his breath, and drowned occasionally
by the rolling of the thunder ; and he would pause every
now and then and listen, with evident awe, as he heard the
heavy footsteps of the stranger pacing overhead. The fol-
lowing is the purport of his story :

Adventure of the Black Fisherman

Everybody knows Black Sam, the old negro fisherman,
or, as he is commonly called, " Mud Sam," who has fished
about the Sound for the last half century. It is now many
years since Sam, who was then as active a young negro
as any in the province, and worked on the farm of Killian
Suydam on Long Island, having finished his day's work
at an early hour, was fishing, one still summer evening,
just about the neighborhood of Hell Gate.

He was in a light skiff, and being well acquainted with
the currents and eddies, had shifted his station, according

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American Mystery Stories

to the shifting of the tide, from the Hen and Chickens to the
Hog's Back, from the Hog's Back to the Pot, and from the
Pot to the Frying Pan; but in the eagerness of his sport
he did not see that the tide was rapidly ebbing, until the
roaring of the whirlpools and eddies warned him of his dan-
ger, and he had some difficulty in shooting his skiff from
among the rocks and breakers, and getting to the point of
Blackwell's Island.^ Here he cast anchor for some time,
waiting the turn of the tide to enable him to return home-
ward. As the night set in, it grew blustering and gusty.
Dark clouds came bundling up in the west, and now and
then a growl of thunder or a flash of lightning told that a
summer storm was at hand. Sam pulled over, therefore,
under the lee of Manhattan Island, and, coasting along, came
to a snug nook, just under a steep, beetling rock, where he
fastened his skiff to the root of a tree that shot out from a
cleft, and spread its broad branches like a canopy over tha
water. The gust came scouring along, the wind threw up
the river in white surges, the rain rattled among the leaves,
the thunder bellowed worse than that which is now bel-
lowing, the lightning seemed to lick up the surges of the
stream ; but Sam, snugly sheltered under rock and tree, lay
crouching in his skiff, rocking upon the billows until he fell
asleep.

When he woke all was quiet. The gust had passed away,
and only now and then a faint gleam of lightning in the
east showed which way it had gone. The night was dark
and moonless, and from the state of the tide Sam concluded
it was near midnight. He was on the point of making loose
his skiff to return homeward when he saw a light gleaming
along the water from a distance, which seemed rapidly ap-
proaching. As it drew near he perceived it came from a
lantern in the bow of a boat gliding along under shadow of
the land. It pulled up in a small cove close to where he
was. A man jumped on shore, and searching about with
the lantern, exclaimed, " This is the place — here's the iron

» A long, narrow island in the East River, between New York and
Long Island City.

190

Washington Irving

ring," The boat was then made fast, and the man, return-
ing on board, assisted his comrades in conveying something
heavy on shore. As the light gleamed among them, Sam
saw that they were five stout, desperate-looking fellows, in
red woolen caps, with a leader in a three-cornered hat, and
that some of them were armed with dirks, or long knives, and
pistols. They talked low to one another, and occasionally
in some outlandish tongue which he could not understand.

On landing they made their way among the bushes, taking
turns to relieve each other in lugging their burden up the
rocky bank. Sam's curiosity was now fully aroused, so
leaving his skiff he clambered silently up a ridge that over-
looked their path. They had stopped to rest for a moment^
and the leader was looking about among the bushes with his
lantern. " Have you brought the spades ? " said one. " They
are here," replied another, who had them on his shoulder,
" We must dig deep, where there will be no risk of dis-
covery," said a third.

A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he saw
before him a gang of murderers, about to bury their victim.
His knees smote together. In his agitation he shook the
branch of a tree with which he was supporting himself as
he looked over the edge of the clifif.

" What's that? " cried one of the gang. " Some one stirs
among the bushes ! "

The lantern was held up in the direction of the noise.
One of the red-caps cocked a pistol, and pointed it toward
the very place where Sam was standing. He stood motion-
less, breathless, expecting the next moment to be his last.
Fortunately his dingy complexion was in his favor, and
made no glare among the leaves.

" 'Tis no one," said the man with the lantern. " What a
plague ! you would not fire ofif your pistol and alarm the
country ! "

The pistol was uncocked, the burden was resumed, and
the party slowly toiled along the bank. Sam watched them
as they went, the light sending back fitful gleams through
the dripping bushes, and it was not till they were fairly out

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American Mystery Stories

of sight that he ventured to draw breath freely. He now
thought of getting back to his boat, and making his escape
out of the reach of such dangerous neighbors ; but curiosity
was all-powerful. He hesitated, and lingered, and listened.
By and by he heard the strokes of spades. " They are dig-
ging the grave ! " said he to himself, and the cold sweat
started upon his forehead. Every stroke of a spade, as it
sounded through the silent groves, went to his heart. It
was evident there was as little noise made as possible ; every-
thing had an air of terrible mystery and secrecy. Sam had
a great relish for the horrible ; a tale of murder was a treat
for him, and he was a constant attendant at executions. He
could not resist an impulse, in spite of every danger, to steal
nearer to the scene of mystery, and overlook the midnight
fellows at their work. He crawled along cautiously, there-
fore, inch by inch, stepping with the utmost care among the
dry leaves, lest their rustling should betray him. He came
at length to where a steep rock intervened between him and
the gang, for he saw the light of their lantern shining up
against the branches of the trees on the other side. Sam
slowly and silently clambered up the surface of the rock,
and raising his head above its naked edge, beheld the vil-
lains immediately below him, and so near that though he
dreaded discovery he dared not withdraw lest the least move-
ment should be heard. In this way he remained, with his
round black face peering above the edge of the rock, like
the sun just emerging above the edge of the horizon, or the
round-cheeked moon on the dial of a clock.

The red-caps had nearly finished their work, the grave
was filled up, and they were carefully replacing the turf.
This done they scattered dry leaves over the place. " And
now," said the leader, " I defy the devil himself to find it
out."

" The murderers ! " exclaimed Sam involuntarily.
The whole gang started, and looking up beheld the round
black head of Sam just above them, his white eyes strained
half out of their orbits, his white teeth chattering, and his
whole visage shining with cold perspiration.

192

Washington Irving

" We're discovered ! " cried one.

"Down with him!" cried another.

Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not pause for
the report. He scrambled over rock and stone, through
brush and brier, rolled down banks like a hedgehog, scram-
bled up others like a catamount. In every direction he heard
some one or other of the gang hemming him in. At length
he reached the rocky ridge along the river ; one of the red-
caps was hard behind him. A steep rock like a wall rose
directly in his way ; it seemed to cut off all retreat, when
fortunately he espied the strong, cord-like branch of a grape-
vine reaching half way down it. He sprang at it with the
force of a desperate man, seized it with both hands, and,
being young and agile, succeeded in swinging himself to the
summit of the cliff. Here he stood in full relief against the
sky, when the red-cap cocked his pistol and fired. The ball
whistled by Sam's head. With the lucky thought of a man
in an emergency, he uttered a yell, fell to the ground, and
detached at the same time a fragment of the rock, which
tumbled with a loud splash into the river.

" I've done his business," said the red-cap to one or two
of his comrades as they arrived panting. " He'll tell no
tales, except to the fishes in the river."

His pursuers now turned to meet their companions. Sam,
sliding silently down the surface of the rock, let himself
quietly into his skiff, cast loose the fastening, and abandoned
himself to the rapid current, which in that place runs like a
mill stream, and soon swept him off from the neighborhood.
It was not, however, until he had drifted a great distance
that he ventured to ply his oars, when he made his skiff dart
like an arrow through the strait of Hell Gate, never heeding
the danger of Pot, Frying Pan, nor Hog's Back itself, nor
did he feel himself thoroughly secure until safely nestled in
bed in the cockloft of the ancient farmhouse of the Suydams.

Here the worthy Peechy Prauw paused to take breath,
and to take a sip of the gossip tankard that stood at his
elbow. His auditors remained with open mouths and out-

193

American Mystery Stories

stretched necks, gaping like a nest of swallows for an addi-
tional mouthful.

" And is that all ? " exclaimed the half-pay officer.

" That's all that belongs to the story," said Peechy Prauw.

" And did Sam never find out what was buried by the red-
caps ? " said Wolfert eagerly, w^hose mind was haunted by
nothing but ingots and doubloons.

" Not that I know of," said Peechy ; " he had no time to
spare from his work, and, to tell the truth, he did not like to
run the risk of another race among the rocks. Besides, how
should he recollect the spot where the grave had been
digged? everything would look so different by daylight.
And then, where was the use of looking for a dead body
when there was no chance of hanging the murderers ? "

" Aye, but are you sure it was a dead body they buried ? '*
said Wolfert.

" To be sure," cried Peechy Prauw exultingly. " Does it
not haunt in the neighborhood to this very day ? "

" Haunts ! " exclaimed several of the party, opening their
eyes still wider, and edging their chairs still closer.

" Aye, haunts," repeated Peechy ; " have none of you
heard of Father Red-cap, who haunts the old burned farm-
house in the woods, on the border of the Sound, near Hell
Gate?"

" Oh, to be sure, I've heard tell of something of the kind,
but then I took it for some old wives' fable."

" Old wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, " that
farmhouse stands hard by the very spot. It's been unoccu-
pied time out of mind, and stands in a lonely part of the
coast, but those who fish in the neighborhood have often
heard strange noises there, and lights have been seen about
the wood at night, and an old fellow in a red cap has been
seen at the windows more than once, which people take to
be the ghost of the body buried there. Once upon a time
three soldiers took shelter in the building for the night, and
rummaged it from top to bottom, when they found old
Father Red-cap astride of a cider barrel in the cellar, with
a jug in one hand and a goblet in the other. He offered

194

Washington Irving

them a drink out of his goblet, but just as one of the soldiers
was putting it to his mouth — whew ! — a flash of fire blazed
through the cellar, blinded every mother's son of them for
several minutes, and when they recovered their eyesight, jug,
goblet, and Red-cap had vanished, and nothing but the
empty cider barrel remained."

Here the half-pay officer, who was growing very muzzy
and sleepy, and nodding over his Hquor, with half-extin-
guished eye, suddenly gleamed up like an expiring rush-
light.

" That's all fudge ! " said he, as Peechy finished his last
story.

" Well, I don't vouch for the truth of it myself," said
Peechy Prauw, *' though all the world knows that there's
something strange about that house and grounds ; but as to
the story of Mud Sam, I believe it just as well as if it had
happened to myself."

The deep interest taken in this conversation by the com-
pany had made them unconscious of the uproar abroad
among the elements, when suddenly they were electrified by
a tremendous clap of thunder. A lumbering crash followed
instantaneously, shaking the building to its very foundation.
All started from their seats, imagining it the shock of an
earthquake, or that old Father Red-cap was coming among
them in all his terrors. They listened for a moment, but
only heard the rain pelting against the windows and the
wind howling among the trees. The explosion was soon
explained by the apparition of an old negro's bald head
thrust in at the door, his white goggle eyes contrasting with
his jetty poll, which was wet with rain, and shone like a
bottle. In a jargon but half intelligible he announced that
the kitchen chimney had been struck with lightning.

A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose and sank in
gusts, produced a momentary stillness. In this interval the
report of a musket was heard, and a long shout, almost like
a yell, resounded from the shores. Everyone crowded to
the window; another musket shot was heard, and another

195

American Mystery Stories

long shout, mingled wildly with a rising blast of wind. It
seemed as if the cry came up from the bosom of the waters,
for though incessant flashes of lightning spread a light about
the shore, no one was to be seen.

Suddenly the window of the room overhead was opened,
and a loud halloo uttered by the mysterious stranger. Sev-
eral bailings passed from one party to the other, but in a
language which none of the company in the barroom could
understand, and presently they heard the window closed, and
a great noise overhead, as if all the furniture were pulled
and hauled about the room. The negro servant was sum-
moned, and shortly afterwards was seen assisting the veteran
to lug the ponderous sea chest downstairs.

The landlord was in amazement. " What, you are not
going on the water in such a storm ? "

" Storm ! " said the other scornfully, " do you call such
a sputter of weather a storm ? "

" You'll get drenched to the skin ; you'll catch your
death ! " said Peechy Prauw affectionately.

*' Thunder and lightning! " exclaimed the veteran ; " don't
preach about weather to a man that has cruised in whirl-
winds and tornadoes."

The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. The
voice from the water was heard once more in a tone of im-
patience ; the bystanders stared with redoubled awe at this
man of storms, who seemed to have come up out of the deep,
and to be summoned back to it again. As, with the assist-
ance of the negro, he slowly bore his ponderous sea chest
toward the shore, they eyed it with a superstitious feeling,
half doubting whether he were not really about to embark
upon it and launch forth upon the wild waves. They fol-
lowed him at a distance with a lantern.

" Dowse ^ the light ! " roared the hoarse voice from the
water. " No one wants light here ! "

" Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the veteran, turn-
ing short upon them ; " back to the house with you ! "

Wolfert and his companions shrank back in dismay. Still

> Extinguish.
196

Washington Irving

their curiosity would not allow them entirely to withdraw.
A long sheet of lightning now flickered across the waves,
and discovered a boat, filled with men, just under a rocky
point, rising and sinking with the heaving surges, and swash-
ing the waters at every heave. It was with difficulty held
to the rocks by a boat hook, for the current rushed furiously
round the point. The veteran hoisted one end of the lum-
bering sea chest on the gunwale of the boat, and seized the
handle at the other end to lift it in, when the motion propelled
the boat from the shore, the chest slipped off from the gun-
wale, and, sinking into the waves, pulled the veteran head-
long after it. A loud shriek was uttered by all on shore, and
a volley of execrations by those on board, but boat and man
were hurried away by the rushing swiftness of the tide. A
pitchy darkness succeeded. Wolfert Webber, indeed, fancied
that he distinguished a cry for help, and that he beheld the
drowning man beckoning for assistance ; but when the light-
ning again gleamed along the water all was void ; neither
man nor boat was to be seen, — nothing but the dashing and
weltering of the waves as they hurried past.

The company returned to the tavern to await the subsiding
of the storm. They resumed their seats and gazed on each
other with dismay. The whole transaction had not occupied
five minutes, and not a dozen words had been spoken. When
they looked at the oaken chair they could scarcely realize
the fact that the strange being who had so lately tenanted
it, full of life and Herculean vigor, should already be a
corpse. There was the very glass he had just drunk from ;
there lay the ashes from the pipe which he had smoked, as
it were, with his last breath. As the worthy burghers pon-
dered on these things, they felt a terrible conviction of the
vincertainty of existence, and each felt as if the ground on
which he stood was rendered less stable by his awful ex-
ample.

As, however, the most of the company were possessed of
that valuable philosophy which enables a man to bear up
with fortitude against the misfortunes of his neighbors, they
soon managed to console themselves for the tragic end of

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American Mystery Stories

the veteran. The landlord was particularly happy that the
poor dear man had paid his reckoning before he went, and
made a kind of farewell speech on the occasion.

" He came," said he, " in a storm, and he went in a
storm; he came in the night, and he went in the night; he
came nobody knows whence, and he has gone nobody knows
where. For aught I know he has gone to sea once more
on his chest, and may land to bother some people on the
other side of the world ; though it's a thousand pities," added
he, " if he has gone to Davy Jones's ^ locker, that he had
not left his own locker ^ behind him."

" His locker ! St. Nicholas preserve us ! " cried Peechy
Prauw. " I'd not have had that sea chest in the house for
any money; I'll warrant he'd come racketing after it at
nights, and making a haunted house of the inn. And as
to his going to sea in his chest, I recollect what happened
to Skipper Onderdonk's ship on his voyage from Amster-
dam.

" The boatswain died during a storm, so they wrapped
him up in a sheet, and put him in his own sea chest, and
threw him overboard ; but they neglected, in their hurry-
skurry, to say prayers over him, and the storm raged and
roared louder than ever, and they saw the dead man seated
in his chest, with his shroud for a sail, coming hard after
the ship, and the sea breaking before him in great sprays
like fire; and there they kept scudding day after day and
night after night, expecting every moment to go to wreck;
and every night they saw the dead boatswain in his sea
chest trying to get up with them, and they heard his whistle
above the blasts of wind, and he seemed to send great seas,
mountain high, after them that would have swamped the
ship if they had not put up the deadlights. And so it went
on till they lost sight of him in the fogs oflf Newfoundland,
and supposed he had veered ship and stood for Dead Man's

* Davy Jones is the spirit of the sea, or the sea devil, and Davy
Jones's locker is the bottom of the ocean; hence, "gone to Davy
Jones's locker" signifies "dead and buried in the sea."

» Cbcst.

198

Washington Irving

Isle.^ So much for burying a man at sea without saying
prayers over him."

The thunder gust which had hitherto detained the com-
pany was now at an end. The cuckoo clock in the hall told
midnight ; everyone pressed to depart, for seldom was such
a late hour of the night trespassed on by these quiet burghers.
As they sallied forth they found the heavens once more se-
rene. The storm which had lately obscured them had rolled
away, and lay piled up in fleecy masses on the horizon,
lighted up by the bright crescent of the moon, which looked
like a little silver lamp hung up in a palace of clouds.

The dismal occurrence of the night, and the dismal nar-
rations they had made, had left a superstitious feeling in
every mind. They cast a fearful glance at the spot where
the buccaneer had disappeared, almost expecting to see him
sailing on his chest in the cool moonshine. The trembling
rays glittered along the waters, but all was placid, and the
current dimpled over the spot where he had gone down.
The party huddled together in a little crowd as they repaired
homeward, particularly when they passed a lonely field
where a man had been murdered, and even the sexton, who
had to complete his journey alone, though accustomed, one
would think, to ghosts and goblins, went a long way round
rather than pass by his own churchyard.

Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh stock of
stories and notions to ruminate upon. These accounts of
pots of money and Spanish treasures, buried here and there
and everywhere about the rocks and bays of these wild
shores, made him almost dizzy. " Blessed St. Nicholas ! "
ejaculated he, half aloud, " is it not possible to come upon
one of these golden hoards, and to make oneself rich in
a twinkling? How hard that I must go on, delving and
delving, day in and day out, merely to make a morsel of
bread, when one lucky stroke of a spade might enable me
to ride in my carriage for the rest of my life ! "

As he turned over in his thoughts all that had been told

> Probably Deadman's Point, a small island near Deadman'g
Bay, off the eastern coast of Newfoundland.

199

American Mystery Stories

of the singular adventure of the negro fisherman, his im-
agination gave a totally dififerent complexion ^ to the tale.
He saw in the gang of red-caps nothing but a crew of
pirates burying their spoils, and his cupidity was once more
awakened by the possibility of at length getting on the
traces of some of this lurking wealth. Indeed, his infected
fancy tinged everything with gold. He felt like the greedy
inhabitant of Bagdad when his eyes had been greased with
the magic ointment of the dervish, that gave him to see
all the treasures of the earth,^ Caskets of buried jewels,
chests of ingots, and barrels of outlandish coins seemed to
court him from their concealments, and supplicate him to
relieve them from their untimely graves.

On making private inquiries about the grounds said to
be haunted by Feather Red-cap, he was more and more
confirmed in his surmise. He learned that the place
had several times been visited by experienced money dig-
gers who had heard Black Sam's story, though none of
them had met with success. On the contrary, they had
always been dogged with ill luck of some kind or other, in
consequence, as Wolfert concluded, of not going to work
at the proper time and with the proper ceremonials. The
last attempt had been made by Cobus Quackenbos, who
dug for a whole night, and met with incredible dilBculty,
for as fast as he threw one shovelful of earth out of the
hole, two were thrown in by invisible hands. He succeeded
so far, however, as to uncover an iron chest, when there
was a terrible roaring, ramping, and raging of uncouth fig-
ures about the hole, and at length a shower of blows, dealt

' Aspect.

» See Story of the Blind Man, Baba Abdalla, in Arabian Nights'
Entertainment. An inhabitant of Bagdad, Asiatic Turkey, meets
with a dervish, or Turkish monk, who presents him with a vast
treasure and with a box of magic ointment, which, applied to the
left eye, enables one to see the treasures in the bosom of the earth,
but on touching the right eye, causes blindness. Having applied
it to the left eye with the result predicted, he uses it on his right
eye, in the hope that still greater treasures may be revealed, and
immediately becomes blind.

200

Washington Irving

by invisible cudgels, fairly belabored him off of the for-
bidden ground. This Cobus Quackenbos had declared on
his deathbed, so that there could not be any doubt of it.
He was a man that had devoted many years of his life to
money digging, and it v^as thought would have ultimately
succeeded had he not died recently of a brain fever in the
almshouse.

Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trepidation and
impatience, fearful lest some rival adventurer should get
a scent of the buried gold. He determined privately to
seek out the black fisherman, and get him to serve as guide
to the place where he had witnessed the mysterious scene
of interment. Sam was easily found, for he was one of
those old habitual beings that live about a neighborhood
until they wear themselves a place in the public mind, and
become, in a manner, public characters. There was not an
unlucky urchin about town that did not know Sam the
fisherman, and think that he had a right to play his tricks
upon the old negro. Sam had led an amphibious life for
more than half a century, about the shores of the bay and
the fishing grounds of the Sound. He passed the greater
part of his time on and in the water, particularly about Hell
Gate, and might have been taken, in bad weather, for one
of the hobgoblins that used to haunt that strait. There
would he be seen, at all times and in all weathers, some-
times in his skiff, anchored among the eddies, or prowling
hke a shark about some wreck, where the fish are supposed
to be most abundant; sometimes seated on a rock from
hour to hour, looking, in the mist and drizzle, like a soli-
tary heron watching for its prey. He was well acquainted
with every hole and corner of the Sound, from the Walla-
bout ^ to Hell Gate, and from Hell Gate unto the Devil's
Stepping-Stones; and it was even affirmed that he knew all
the fish in the river by their Christian names.

Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not much
larger than a tolerable dog house. It was rudely con-

1 A bay of the East River, on which the Brooklyn Navy Yard is
situated.

201

American Mystery Stories

strutted of fragments of wrecks and driftwood, and built
on the rocky shore at the foot of the old fort, just about
what at present forms the point of the Battery.^ A " very
ancient and fishlike smell " ^ pervaded the place. Oars,
paddles, and fishing rods were leaning against the wall of
the fort, a net was spread on the sand to dry, a skiff was
drawn up on the beach, and at the door of his cabin was
Mud Sam himself, indulging in the true negro luxury of
sleeping in the sunshine.

Many years had passed away since the time of Sam's
youthful adventure, and the snows of many a winter had
grizzled the knotty wool upon his head. He perfectly recol-
lected the circumstances, however, for he had often been
called upon to relate them, though in his version of the
story he differed in many points from Peechy Prauw, as is
not infrequently the case with authentic historians. As to
the subsequent researches of money diggers, Sam knew
nothing about them; they were matters quite out of his
line; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to disturb his
thoughts on that point. His only wish was to secure the
old fisherman as a pilot to the spot, and this was readily
effected. The long time that had intervened since his noc-
turnal adventure had effaced all Sam's awe of the place, and
the promise of a trifling reward roused him at once from
his sleep and his sunshine.

The tide was adverse to making the expedition by water,
and Wolfert was too impatient to get to the land of promise
to wait for its turning; they set off, therefore, by land. A
walk of four or five miles brought them to the edge o-f a
wood, which at that time covered the greater part of the
eastern side of the island. It was just beyond the pleasant
region of Bloomen-dael.^ Here they struck into a long

» The southern extremity of New York City.

' See Shakespeare's The Tempest, act ii., sc. 2.

» At the time this story was written Bloomen-dael (Flowery Val-
ley) was a village four miles from New York. It is now that part
of New York known as Bloomingdale, on the west side, between
about Seventieth and One Hundredth Streets.

202

Washington Irving

lane, straggHng among trees and bushes very much over-
grown with weeds and mullein stalks, as if but seldom used,
and so completely overshadowed as to enjoy but a kind of
twilight. Wild vines entangled the trees and flaunted in
their faces ; brambles and briers caught their clothes as they
passed; the garter snake glided across their path; the
spotted toad hopped and waddled before them; and the
restless catbird mewed at them from every thicket. Had
Wolfert Webber been deeply read in romantic legend he
might have fancied himself entering upon forbidden, en-
chanted ground, or that these were some of the guardians
set to keep watch upon buried treasure. As it was, the
loneliness of the place, and the wild stories connected with
it, had their efifect upon his mind.

On reaching the lower end of the lane they found them-
selves near the shore of the Sound, in a kind of amphi-
theater surrounded by forest trees. The area had once
been a grass plot, but was now shagged with briers and
rank weeds. At one end, and just on the river bank, was
a ruined building, little better than a heap of rubbish, with
a stack of chimneys rising like a solitary tower out of the
center. The current of the Sound rushed along just below
it, with wildly grown trees drooping their branches into its
waves.

Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted house
of Father Red-cap, and called to mind the story of Peechy
Prauw. The evening was approaching, and the light, fall-
ing dubiously among the woody places, gave a melancholy
tone to the scene well calculated to foster any lurking feel-
ing of awe or superstition. The night hawk, wheeling about
in the highest regions of the air, emitted his peevish, boding
cry. The woodpecker gave a lonely tap now and then on
some hollow tree, and the firebird ^ streamed by them with
his deep red plumage.

They now came to an inclosure that had once been a gar-
den. It extended along the foot of a rocky ridge, but was

* Orchard oriole.
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American Mystery Stories

little better than a wilderness of weeds, with here and there
a matted rosebush, or a peach or plum tree, grown wild
and ragged, and covered with moss. At the lower end of
the garden they passed a kind of vault in the side of a
bank, facing the water. It had the look of a root house.^
Tlie door, though decayed, was still strong, and appeared
to have been recently patched up. Wolfert pushed it open.
It gave a harsh grating upon its hinges, and striking against
something like a box, a rattling sound ensued, and a skull
rolled on the floor. Wolfert drew back shuddering, but was
reassured on being informed by the negro that this was a
family vault, belonging to one of the old Dutch families that
owned this estate, an assertion corroborated by the sight
of coffins of various sizes piled within. Sam had been fa-
miliar with all these scenes when a boy, and now knew that
he could not be far from the place of which they were in
quest.

They now made their way to the water's edge, scrambling
along ledges of rocks that overhung the waves, and obliged
often to hold by shrubs and grapevines to avoid slipping
into the deep and hurried stream. At length they came to
a small cove, or rather indent of the shore. It was pro-
tected by steep rocks, and overshadowed by a thick copse
of oaks and chestnuts, so as to be sheltered and almost
concealed. The beach shelved gradually within the cove,
but the current swept deep and black and rapid along its
jutting points. The negro paused, raised his remnant of
a hat, and scratched his grizzled poll for a moment, as he
regarded this nook; then suddenly clapping his hands, he
stepped exultingly forward, and pointed to a large iron
ring, stapled firmly in the rock, just where a broad shelf of
stone furnished a commodious landing place. It was the
very spot where the red-caps had landed. Years had
changed the more perishable features of the scene; but
rock and iron yield slowly to the influence of time. On

' "Root house," i.e., a house for storing up potatoes, turnips, or
other roots for the winter feed of cattle.

204

Washington Irving

looking more closely Wolfert remarked three crosses cut in
the rock jvist above the ring, which had no doubt some mys-
terious signification. Old Sam now readily recognized the
overhanging rock under which his skiff had been sheltered
during the thunder gust. To follow up the course which
the midnight gang had taken, however, was a harder task.
His mind had been so much taken up on that eventful
occasion by the persons of the drama as to pay but little
attention to the scenes, and these places looked so different
by night and day. After wandering about for some time,
however, they came to an opening among the trees which
Sam thought resembled the place. There was a ledge of
rock of moderate height, like a wall, on one side, w^hich
he thought -might be the very ridge whence he had over-
looked the diggers. Wolfert examined it narrowly, and at
length discovered three crosses similar to those on the
above ring, cut deeply into the face of the rock, but nearly
obliterated by moss that had grown over them. His heart
leaped with joy, for he doubted not they were the private
marks of the buccaneers. All now that remained was to as-
certain the precise spot where the treasure lay buried, for
otherwise he might dig at random in the neighborhood
of the crosses, without coming upon the spoils, and he had
already had enough of such profitless labor. Here, how-
ever, the old negro was perfectly at a loss, and indeed per-
plexed him by a variety of opinions, for his recollections
were all confused. Sometimes he declared it must have
been at the foot of a mulberry tree hard by ; then beside a
great white stone; then under a small green knoll, a short
distance from the ledge of rocks, until at length Wolfert
became as bewildered as himself.

The shadows of evening were now spreading themselves
over the woods, and rock and tree began to mingle to-
gether. It was evidently too late to attempt anything fur-
ther at present, and, indeed, Wolfert had come unprovided
with implements to prosecute his researches. Satisfied,
therefore, with having ascertained the place, he took note
of all its landmarks, that he might recognize it again, and

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American Mystery Stories

set out on his return homeward, resolved to prosecute this
golden enterprise without delay.

The leading anxiety which had hitherto absorbed every
feeling being now in some measure appeased, fancy began
to wander, and to conjure up a thousand shapes and chi-
meras as he returned through this haunted region. Pirates
hanging in chains seemed to swing from every tree, and he
almost expected to see some Spanish don, with his throat
cut from ear to ear, rising slowly out of the ground, and
shaking the ghost of a money bag.

Their way back lay through the desolate garden, and
Wolfert's nerves had arrived at so sensitive a state that the
flitting of a bird, the rustling of a leaf, or the falling of a
nut was enough to startle him. As they entered the con-
fines of the garden, they caught sight of a figure at a dis-
tance advancing slowly up one of the walks, and bending
under the weight of a burden. They paused and regarded
him attentively. He wore what appeared to be a woolen
cap, and, still more alarming, of a most sanguinary red.

The figure moved slowly on, ascended the bank, and
stopped at the very door of the sepulchral vault. Just
before entering it he looked around. What was the af-
fright of Wolfert when he recognized the grisly visage of
the drowned buccaneer! He uttered an ejaculation of hor-
ror. The figure slowly raised his iron fist and shook it
with a terrible menace. Wolfert did not pause to see any
more, but hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him,
nor was Sam slow in following at his heels, having all his
ancient terrors revived. Away, then, did they scramble
through bush and brake, horribly frightened at every bram-
ble that tugged at their skirts, nor did they pause to breathe
until they had blundered their way through this perilous
wood, and fairly reached the highroad to the city.

Several days elapsed before Wolfert could summon cour-
age enough to prosecute the enterprise, so much had he
been dismayed by the apparition, whether living or dead,
of the grisly buccaneer. In the meantime, what a conflict
of mind did he suffer! He neglected all his concerns, was

206

Washington Irving

moody and restless all day, lost his appetite, wandered in
his thoughts and words, and committed a thousand blun-
ders. His rest was broken, and when he fell asleep the
nightmare, in shape of a huge money bag, sat squatted upon
his breast. He babbled about incalculable sums, fancied
himself engaged in money digging, threw the bedclothes
right and left, in the idea that he was shoveling away
the dirt, groped under the bed in quest of the treasure,
and lugged forth, as he supposed, an inestimable pot of
gold.

Dame Webber and her daughter were in despair at what
they conceived a returning touch of insanity. There are
two family oracles, one or other of which Dutch housewives
consult in all cases of great doubt and perplexity, — the
dominie and the doctor. In the present instance they re-
paired to the doctor. There was at that time a little dark,
moldy man of medicine, famous among the old wives of
the Manhattoes for his skill, not only in the healing art,
but in all matters of strange and mysterious nature. His
name was Dr. Knipperhausen, but he was more commonly
known by the appellation of the " High German Doctor." ^
To him did the poor women repair for counsel and assist-
ance touching the mental vagaries of Wolfert Webber.

They found the doctor seated in his little study, clad in his
dark camlet ^ robe of knowledge, with his black velvet cap,
after the manner of Boerhaave/ Van Helmont,* and other
medical sages, a pair of green spectacles set in black horn
upon his clubbed nose, and poring over a German folio that
reflected back the darkness of his physiognomy. The doc-
tor listened to their statement of the symptoms of Wolfert's
malady with profound attention, but when they came to

* The same, no doubt, of whom mention is made in the history
of Dolph Heyliger.

* A fabric made of goat's hair and silk, or wool and cotton.

3 Hermann Boerhaave (i 668-1 738), a celebrated Dutch physician
and philosopher.

■^Jan Baptista Van Helmont (1577-1644), a celebrated Flemish
physician and chemist.

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American Mystery Stories

mention his raving about buried money the Httle man
pricked up his ears. Alas, poor women! they httle knew the
aid they had called in.

Dr. Knipperhausen had been half his life engaged in
seeking the short cuts to fortune, in quest of which so many
a long lifetime is wasted. He had passed some years of
his youth among the Harz ^ mountains of Germany, and
had derived much valuable instruction from the miners
touching the mode of seeking treasure buried in the earth.
He had prosecuted his studies, also, under a traveling
sage who united the mysteries of medicine with magic and
legerdemain. His mind, therefore, had become stored with
all kinds of mystic lore; he had dabbled a little in astrology,
alchemy, divination;^ knew how to detect stolen money,
and to tell where springs of water lay hidden; in a word,
by the dark nature of his knowledge he had acquired the
name of the " High German Doctor," which is pretty nearly
equivalent to that of necromancer. The doctor had often
heard rumors of treasure being buried in various parts of
the island, and had long been anxious to get on the traces
of it. No sooner were Wolfert's waking and sleeping
vagaries confided to him than he beheld in them the con-
firmed symptoms of a case of money digging, and lost no
time in probing it to the bottom. Wolfert had long been
sorely oppressed in mind by the golden secret, and as a
family physician is a kind of father confessor, he was glad
of any opportunity of unburdening himself. So far from
curing, the doctor caught the malady from his patient. The
circumstances unfolded to him awakened all his cupidity;
he had not a doubt of money being buried somewhere in

' A mountain chain in northwestern Germany, between the Elbe
and the Weser.

2 Astrology, alchemy, and divination were three imaginary arts.
The first pretended to judge of the influence of the stars on human
affairs, and to foretell events by their positions and aspects; the
second aimed to transmute the baser metals into gold, and to find
a universal remedy for diseases ; while the third dealt with the dis-
covery of secret or future events by preternatural means.

208

IVashiugton Irving

the neighborhood of the mysterious crosses, and offered
to join Wolfert in the search. He informed him that much
secrecy and caution must be observed in enterprises of the
kind; that money is only to be dug for at night, with cer-
tain forms and ceremonies and burning of drugs, the repeat-
ing of mystic words, and, above all, that the seekers must
first be provided with a divining rod,^ which had the won-
derful property of pointing to the very spot on the surface
of the earth under which treasure lay hidden. As the doc-
tor had given much of his mind to these matters he charged
himself with all the necessary preparations, and, as the quar-
ter of the moon was propitious, he undertook to have the
divining rod ready by a certain night.

Wolfert's heart leaped with joy at having met with so
learned and able a coadjutor. Everything went on secretly
but swimmingly. The doctor had many consultations with
his patient, and the good women of the household lauded
the comforting effect of his visits. In the meantime the
wonderful divining rod, that great key to nature's secrets,
was duly prepared. The doctor had thumbed over all his
books of knowledge for the occasion, and the black fisher-
man was engaged to take them in his skiff to the scene
of enterprise, to work with spade and pickax in unearthing
the treasure, and to freight his bark with the weighty spoils
they were certain of finding.

At length the appointed night arrived for this perilous
undertaking. Before Wolfert left his home he counseled
his wife and daughter to go to bed, and feel no alarm if
he should not return during the night. Like reasonable
women, on being told not to feel alarm they fell immediately
into a panic. They saw at once by his manner that some-
thing unusual was in agitation; all their fears about the
unsettled state of his mind were revived with tenfold force;
they hung about him, entreating him not to expose himself
to the night air, but all in vain. When once Wolfert was

> A divining rod is a rod used by those who pretend to discover
water or metals underground. It is commonly made of witch
hazel, with forked branches.

209

American Mystery Stories

mounted on his liobby/ it was no easy manner to get him
out of the saddle. It was a clear, starlight night when he
issued out of the portal of the Webber palace. He wore a
large fiapped hat, tied under the chin with a handkerchief
of his daughter's, to secure him from the night damp, while
Dame Webber threw her long red cloak about his shoul-
ders, and fastened it round his neck.

The doctor had been no less carefully armed and accou-
tered by his housekeeper, the vigilant Frau Ilsy, and sal-
lied forth in his camlet robe by way of surcoat,^ his black
velvet cap under his cocked hat, a thick clasped book under
his arm, a basket of drugs and dried herbs in one hand,
and in the other the miraculous rod of divination.

The great church clock struck ten as Wolfert and the
doctor passed by the churchyard, and the watchman bawled
in hoarse voice a long and doleful " All's well! " A deep
sleep had already fallen upon this primitive little burgh;
nothing disturbed this awful silence excepting now and
then the bark of some profligate, night-walking dog, or the
serenade of some rom.antic cat. It is true Wolfert fancied
more than once that he heard the sound of a stealthy foot-
fall at a distance behind them; but it might have been
merely the echo of their own steps along the quiet streets.
He thought also at one time that he saw a tall figure skulk-
ing after them, stopping when they stopped and moving on
as they proceeded; but the dim and uncertain lamplight
threw such vague gleams and shadows that this might all
have been mere fancy.

They found the old fisherman waiting for them, smoking
his pipe in the stern of the skiff, which was moored just in
front of his little cabin. A pickax and spade were lying in
the bottom of the boat, with a dark lantern, and a stone
bottle of good Dutch courage,^ in which honest Sam no

1 Hobby, or hobbyhorse, a favorite th^rne of .thought; hence, "to
mount a hobby" is to follow a favorite pursuit. • •'•■• -''--

' Overcoat.

' Dutch courage is courage that results from indulgence in Dutch
gin or Hollands; here applied to the gin itself. ^'j'j. '/',',

210

Washington Irving

doubt put even more faith than Dr. Knipperhausen in his
drugs.

Thus, then, did these three worthies embark in their
cockleshell of a skiff upon this nocturnal expedition, with
a wisdom and valor equaled only by the three wise men of
Gotham/ who adventured to sea in a bowl. The tide was
rising and running rapidly up the Sound. The current bore
them along, almost without the aid of an oar. The profile
of the town lay all in shadow. Here and there a light
feebly glimmered from some sick chamber, or from the
cabin window of some vessel at anchor in the stream. Not
a cloud obscured the deep, starry firmament, the lights of
which wavered on the surface of the placid river, and a
shooting meteor, streaking its pale course in the very direc-
tion they were taking, was interpreted by the doctor into a
most propitious omen.

In a little while they glided by the point of Corlear's
Hook, with the rural inn which had been the scene of such
night adventures. The family had retired to rest, and the
house was dark and still. Wolfert felt a chill pass over him
as they passed the point where the buccaneer had disap-
peared. He pointed it out to Dr. Knipperhausen. While
regarding it they thought they saw a boat actually lurking
at the very place; but the shore cast such a shadow over
the border of the water that they could discern nothing dis-
tinctly. They had not proceeded far when they heard the
low sounds of distant oars, as if cautiously pulled. Sam
plied his oars with redoubled vigor, and knowing all the
eddies and currents of the stream, soon left their follow-
ers, if such they were, far astern. In a little while they

» "Three wise men of Gotham,
They went to sea in a bowl —
And if the bowl had been stronger,
My tale had been longer."

Mother Goose Melody.

Gotham was a village proverbial for the blundering simplicity
of its inhabitants. At first the name referred to an English village.
Irving applied it to New York City.

211

American Mystery Stories

stretched across Turtle Bay and Kip's Bay,^ then shrouded
themselves in the deep shadows of the Manhattan shore,
and glided swiftly along, secure from observation. At
length the negro shot his skiff into a little cove, darkly em-
bowered by trees, and made it fast to the well-known iron
ring. They now landed, and lighting the lantern gathered
their various implements and proceeded slowly through the
bushes. Every sound startled them, even that of their own
footsteps among the dry leaves, and the hooting of a screech
owl, from the shattered chimney of the neighboring ruin,
made their blood run cold.

In spite of all Wolfert's caution in taking note of the land-
marks, it was some time before they could find the open
place among the trees, where the treasure was supposed
to be buried. At length they came to the ledge of rock,
and on examining its surface by the aid of the lantern,
Wolfert recognized the three mystic crosses. Their hearts
beat quick, for the momentous trial was at hand that w^as
to determine their hopes.

The lantern was now held by Wolfert Webber, while the
doctor produced the divining rod. It was a forked twig,
one end of which was grasped firmly in each hand, while
the center, forming the stem, pointed perpendicularly up-
ward. The doctor moved his wand about, within a cer-
tain distance of the earth, from place to place, but for some
time without any efifect, while Wolfert kept the light of the
lantern turned full upon it, and watched it with the most
breathless interest. At length the rod began slowly to
turn. The doctor grasped it with greater earnestness, his
hands trembling with the agitation of his mind. The wand
continued to turn gradually, until at length the stem had
reversed its position, and pointed perpendicularly down-
ward, and remained pointing to one spot as fixedly as the
needle to the pole.

" This is the spot! " said the doctor, in an almost inaudi-
ble tone.

Wolfert's heart was in his throat.

» A small bay in the East River below Corlear's Hook.

212

Washington Irving

" Shall I dig? " said the negro, grasping the spade.

" Pots tansciid^ no ! " replied the little doctor hastily.
He now ordered his companions to keep close by him, and
to maintain the most inflexible silence; that certain precau-
tions must be taken and ceremonies used to prevent the
evil spirits which kept about buried treasure from doing
them any harm. He then drew a circle about the place,
enough to include the whole party. He next gathered dry
twigs and leaves and made a fire, upon which he threw
certain drugs and dried herbs which he had brought in his
basket. A thick smoke rose, diffusing a potent odor savor-
ing marvelously of brimstone and asafetida, which, how-
ever grateful it might be to the olfactory nerves of spirits,
nearly strangled poor Wolfert, and produced a fit of cough-
ing and wheezing that made the whole grove resound. Dr.
Knipperhausen then unclasped the volume which he had
brought under his arm, which was printed in red and black
characters in German text. While Wolfert held the lantern,
the doctor, by the aid of his spectacles, read ofif several
forms of conjuration in Latin and German. He then or-
dered Sam to seize the pickax and proceed to work. The
close-bound soil gave obstinate signs of not having been
disturbed for many a year. After having picked his way
through the surface, Sam came to a bed of sand and gravel,
which he threw briskly to right and left with the spade.

"Hark!" said Wolfert, who fancied he heard a tram-
pling among the dry leaves and a rustling through the
bushes. Sam paused for a moment, and they listened. No
footstep was near. The bat flitted by them in silence; a
bird, roused from its roost by the light which glared up
among the trees, flew circling about the flame. In the
profound stillness of the woodland they could distinguish
the current rippling along the rocky shore, and the distant
murmuring and roaring of Hell Gate.

The negro continued his labors, and had already digged
a considerable hole. The doctor stood on the edge, reading

' A German exclamation of anger, equivalent to the English
"zounds!"

213

American Mystery Stories

formulae every now and then from his black-letter volume,
or throwing more drugs and herbs upon the fire, while
Wolfert bent anxiously over the pit, watching every stroke
of the spade. Anyone witnessing the scene thus lighted up
by fire, lantern, and the reflection of Wolfert's red mantle,
might have mistaken the little doctor for some foul magi-
cian, busied in his incantations, and the grizzly-headed
negro for some swart goblin obedient to his commands.

At length the spade of the fisherman struck upon some-
thing that sounded hollow. The sound vibrated to Wol-
fert's heart. He struck his spade again.

" 'Tis a chest," said Sam.

"Full of gold, I'll warrant it!" cried Wolfert, clasping
his hands with rapture.

Scarcely had he uttered the words when a sound from
above caught his ear. He cast up his eyes, and lo! by the
expiring light of the fire he beheld, just over the disk of
the rock, what appeared to be the grim visage of the
drowned buccaneer, grinning hideously down upon him.

Wolfert gave a loud cry and let fall the lantern. His
panic communicated itself to his companions. The negro
leaped out of the hole, the doctor dropped his book and
basket, and began to pray in German. All was horror and
confusion. The fire was scattered about, the lantern extin-
guished. In their hurry-scurry ^ they ran against and con-
founded one another. They fancied a legion of hobgoblins
let loose upon them, and that they saw, by the fitful gleams
of the scattered embers, strange figures, in red caps, gib-
bering and ramping around them. The doctor ran one
way, the negro another, and Wolfert made for the water
side. As he plunged struggling onward through brush
and brake, he heard the tread of some one in pursuit. He
scrambled frantically forward. The footsteps gained upon
him. He felt himself grasped by his cloak, when suddenly
his pursuer was attacked in turn ; a fierce fight and struggle
ensued, a pistol was discharged that lit up rock and bush
for a second, and show^ed two figures grappling together-,
' A swift, disorderly movement.
2Td

Washington Irving

all was then darker than ever. The contest continued, the
combatants clinched each other, and panted and groaned,
and rolled among the rocks. There was snarling and
growling as of a cur, mingled with curses, in which Wol-
fert fancied he could recognize the voice of the buccaneer.
He would fain have fled, but he was on the brink of a
precipice, and could go no farther.

Again the parties were on their feet, again there was a
tugging and struggling, as if strength alone could decide the
combat, until one was precipitated from the brow of the olifif,
and sent headlong into the deep stream that whirled below,
Wolfert heard the plunge, and a kind of strangling, bub-
bling murmur, but the darkness of the night hid everything
from him, and the swiftness of the current swept everything
instantly out of hearing. One of the combatants was dis-
posed of, but whether friend or foe Wolfert could not tell,
nor whether they might not both be foes. He heard the
survivor approach, and his terror revived. He saw, where
the profile of the rocks rose against the horizon, a human
form advancing. He could not be mistaken; it must be the
buccaneer. Whither should he fly? — a precipice was on one
side, a murderer on the other. The enemy approached —
he was close at hand. Wolfert attempted to let himself
down the face of the cliflf. His cloak caught in a thorn that
grew on the edge. He was jerked from off his feet, and
held dangling in the air, half choked by the string with
which his careful wife had fastened the garment around his
neck. Wolfert thought his last moment was arrived; al-
ready had he committed his soul to St. Nicholas, when the
string broke, and he tumbled down the bank, bumping from
rock to rock and bush to bush, and leaving the red cloak
fluttering like a bloody banner in the air.

It was a long while before Wolfert came to himself.
When he opened his eyes, the ruddy streaks of morning
were already shooting up the sky. He found himself griev-
ously battered, and lying in the bottom of a boat. He
attempted to sit up, but was too sore and stiff to move. A
voice requested him in a friendly accents to lie still. He

215

American Mystery Stories

turned his eyes toward the speaker; it was Dirk Waldron.
He had dogged the party, at the earnest request of Dame
Webber and her daughter, who, with the laudable curiosity
of their sex, had pried into the secret consultations of Wol-
fert and the doctor. Dirk had been completely distanced
in following the light skiff of the fisherman, and had just
come in time to rescue the poor money digger from his
pursuer.

Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doctor and
Black Sam severally found their way back to the Manhat-
toes, each having some dreadful tale of peril to relate. As
to poor Wolfert, instead of returning in triumph, laden
with bags of gold, he was borne home on a shutter, fol-
lowed by a rabble-rout ^ of curious urchins. His wife and
daughter saw the dismal pageant from a distance, and
alarmed the neighborhood with their cries; they thought
the poor man had suddenly settled the great debt of nature
in one of his wayward moods. Finding him, however,
still living, they had him speedily to bed, and a jury of
old matrons of the neighborhood assembled to determine
how he should be doctored. The whole town was in a
buzz with the story of the money diggers. Many repaired
to the scene of the previous night's adventures; but though
they found the very place of the digging, they discovered
nothing that compensated them for their trouble. Some
say they found the fragments of an oaken chest, and an
iron pot lid, which savored strongly of hidden money, and
that in the old family vault there were traces of bales and
boxes; but this is all very dubious.

In fact, the secret of all this story has never to this day
been discovered. Whether any treasure were ever actually
buried at that place; whether, if so, it were carried off at
night by those who had buried it; or whether it still re-
mains there under the guardianship of gnomes and spirits
until it shall be properly sought for, is all matter of conjec-
ture. For my part, I incline to the latter opinion, and make
no doubt that great sums lie buried, both there and in other

> A noisy throng.
2l6

Washington Irving

parts of this island and its neighborhood, ever since the
times of the buccaneers and the Dutch colonists; and I
\Y0uld earnestly recommend the search after them to such
of my fellow citizens as are not engaged in any other
speculations.

There were many conjectures formed, also, as to who
and what was the strange man of the seas, who had domi-
neered over the little fraternity at Corlear's Hook for a
time, disappeared so strangely, and reappeared so fearfully.
Some supposed him a smuggler stationed at that place to
assist his comrades in landing their goods among the rocky
coves of the island. Others, that he was one of the ancient
comrades of Kidd or Bradish, returned to convey away
treasures formerly hidden in the vicinity. The only cir-
cumstance that throws anything like a vague light on this
mysterious matter is a report which prevailed of a strange,
foreign-built shallop, with much the look of a picaroon,^
having been seen hovering about the Sound for several days
without landing or reporting herself, though boats were
seen going to and from her at night; and that she was seen
standing out of the mouth of the harbor, in the gray of the
dawn, after the catastrophe of the money diggers.

I must not omit to mention another report, also, which
I confess is rather apocryphal, of the buccaneer who is sup-
posed to have been drowned, being seen before daybreak,
with a lantern in his hand, seated astride of his great sea
chest, and sailing through Hell Gate, which just then began
to roar and bellow with redoubled fury.

While all the gossip world was thus filled with talk and
rumor, poor Wolfert lay sick and sorrowfully in his bed,
bruised in body and sorely beaten down in mind. His wife
and daughter did all they could to bind up his wounds, both
corporal and spiritual. The good old dame never stirred
from his bedside, where she sat knitting from morning till
night, while his daughter busied herself about him with the
fondest care. Nor did they lack assistance from abroad.
Whatever may be said of the desertion of friends in dis-

> A piratical vessel.
217

American Mystery Stories

tress, they had no complaint of the kind to make. Not an
old wife of the neighborhood but abandoned her work to
crowd to the mansion of Wolfert Webber, to inquire after
his health and the particulars of his story. Not one came,
moreover, without her little pipkin of pennyroyal, sage,
balm, or other herb tea, delighted at an opportunity of sig-
nalizing her kindness and her doctorship. What drench-
ings did not the poor Wolfert undergo, and all in vain! It
was a moving sight to behold him wasting away day by day,
growing thinner and thinner and ghastlier and ghastlier, and
staring with rueful visage from under an old patchwork
counterpane, upon the jury of matrons kindly assembled to
sigh and groan and look unhappy around him.

Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed to shed a
ray of sunshine into this house of mourning. He came in
with cheery look and manly spirit, and tried to reanimate
the expiring heart of the poor money digger, but it was all
in vain. Wolfert was completely done over.^ If anything
was wanting to complete his despair, it was a notice, served
upon him in the midst of his distress, that the corporation
was about to run a new street through the very center of
his cabbage garden. He now saw nothing before him but
poverty and ruin; his last reliance, the garden of his fore-
fathers, was to be laid waste, and what then was to become
of his poor wife and child?

His eyes filled with tears as they followed the dutiful Amy
out of the room one morning. Dirk Waldron was seated
beside him; Wolfert grasped his hand, pointed after his
daughter, and for the first time since his illness broke the
silence he had maintained.

" I am going! " said he, shaking his head feebly, " and
when I am gone, my poor daughter "

"Leave her to me, father!" said Dirk manfully; "I'll
take care of her! "

Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, strapping
youngster, and saw there was none better able to take care
of a woman.

Exhausted.
2l8

Washington Irving

" Enough," said he, " she is yours ! And now fetch me a
lawyer — let me make my will and die."

The lawyer was brought, — a dapper, bustling, round-
headed little man. Roorback (or Rollebuck, as it was pro-
nounced) by name. At the sight of him the women broke
into loud lamentations, for they looked upon the signing
of a will as the signing of a death warrant. Wolfert made
a feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy buried
her face and her grief in the bed curtain. Dame Webber
resumed her knitting to hide her distress, which betrayed
itself, however, in a pellucid tear, which trickled silently
down, and hung at the end of her peaked nose; while the
cat, the only unconcerned member of the family, played
with the good dame's ball of worsted as it rolled about the
floor.

Wolfert lay on his back, his nightcap drawn over his
forehead, his eyes closed, his whole visage the picture of
death. He begged the lawyer to be brief, for he felt his
end approaching, and that he had no time to lose. The
lawyer nibbed ^ his pen, spread out his paper, and prepared
to write.

" I give and bequeath," said Wolfert faintly, " my small
farm "

" What! all? " exclaimed the lawyer.

Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the
lawver.

"Yes, all," said he.

" What ! all that great patch of land with cabbages and
sunflowers, which the corporation is just going to run a
main street through?"

" The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh, and sink-
ing back upon his pillow,

" I wish him joy that inherits it ! " said the little lawyer^
chuckling and rubbing his hands involuntarily.

"What do you mean?" said Wolfert, again opening his
eyes.

' In Irving's time, quills were made into pens by pointing or
"nibbing" their ends.

219

American Mystery Stories

" That he'll he one of the richest men in the place,"
cried little Rollebuck.

The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from the
threshold of existence; his eyes again lighted up; he raised
himself in his bed, shoved back his red worsted nightcap,
and stared broadly at the lawyer.

" You don't say so! " exclaimed he,

" Faith but I do! " rejoined the other. " Why, when that
great field and that huge meadow come to be laid out in
streets and cut up into snug building lots, — why, whoever
owns it need not pull ofT his hat to the patroon! "

" Say you so? " cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg out
of bed ; " why, then, I think I'll not make my will yet."

To the surprise of everybody the dying man actually
recovered. The vital spark, which had glimmered faintly
in the socket, received fresh fuel from the oil of gladness
which the little lawyer poured into his soul. It once more
burned up into a flame.

Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the body
of a spirit-broken man! In a few days Wolfert left his
room ; in a few days more his table was covered with deeds,
plans of streets and building lots. Little Rollebuck was
constantly with him, his right hand man and adviser, and
instead of making his will assisted in the more agreeable
task of making his fortune. In fact Wolfert Webber was
one of those worthy Dutch burghers of the Manhattoes
whose fortunes have been made, in a manner, in spite of
themselves; who have tenaciously held on to their heredi-
tary acres, raising turnips and cabbages about the skirts of
the city, hardly able to make both ends meet, until the
corporation has cruelly driven streets through their abodes,
and they have suddenly awakened out of their lethargy,
and, to their astonishment, found themselves rich men.

Before many months had elapsed a great, bustling street
passed through the very center of the Webber garden, just
where Wolfert had dreamed of finding a treasure. His
golden dream was accomplished; he did, indeed, find an
unlooked-for source of wealth, for, when his paternal lands

220

Washington Irving

were distributed into building lots and rented out to safe
tenants, instead of producing a paltry crop of cabbages they
returned him an abundant crop of rent, insomuch that on
quarter day it was a goodly sight to see his tenants knock-
ing at the door from morning till night, each with a little
round-bellied bag of money, a golden produce of the soil.

The ancient mansion of his forefathers was still kept up,
but, instead of being a little yellow-fronted Dutch house in
a garden, it now stood boldly in the midst of a street, the
grand home of the neighborhood; for Wolfert enlarged it
with a wing on each side, and a cupola or tea room on
top, where he might climb up and smoke his pipe in hot
weather, and in the course of time the whole mansion was
overrun by the chubby-faced progeny of Amy Webber and
Dirk Waldron.

As Wolfert waxed old and rich and corpulent he also set
up a great gingerbread-colored carriage, drawn by a pair
of black Flanders mares with tails that swept the ground;
and to commemorate the origin of his greatness he had
for his crest a full-blown cabbage painted on the panels,
with the pithy motto, ALLES KOPF, that is to say, all
HEAD, meaning thereby that he had risen by sheer head
work.

To fill the measure of his greatness, in the fullness of
time the renowned Ramm Rapelye slept with his fathers,
and Wolfert Webber succeeded to the leather-bottomed
armchair in the inn parlor at Corlear's Hook; where he
long reigned, greatly honored and respected, insomuch that
he was never known to tell a story without its being be-
lieved, nor to utter a joke without its being laughed at.

221

Introduction to "Wieland's Madness,'* from *^Wie-
land, or The Transformation**

From Virtue's blissful paths away
The double-tongued are sure to stray;
Good is a forth-right journey still,
And mazy paths but lead to ill.

"Wieland" is the first American novel. It appeared in 1798;
its author was soon recognized as the earliest American novelist;
and he remained the greatest, until Fenimore Cooper brought forth
his Leather-stocking Tales, a quarter of a century later.

Although modern sophistication easily points out flaws in
Charles Brockden Brown's story-structure, and reproves him for
improbability, morbidness, and a style often too elevated, yet his
work lives. His downright originality is worthy of Cooper himself,
and his weird imaginations and horribly sustained scenes of terror
have been surpassed by few writers save Edgar Allan Poe.

222

Charles Brockden Brown

FIRST PART
I

JVi eland's Madness

As the story opens, the narratress, Clara Wieland, is entering
upon the happy reaUzation of her love for Henry Pleyel, closest
friend of her brother "Wieland."

Their woodland home, Mettingen, on the banks of the then re-
mote Schuylkill, is the abode of music, letters and thorough cul-
ture. The peace of high thinking and simple outdoor life hovers
over all.

(^NE sunny afternoon I was standing in the door of my
house, when I marked a person passing close to the
edge of the bank that was in front. His pace was a care-
less and lingering one, and had none of that gracefulness
and ease which distinguish a person with certain advantages
of education from a clown. His gait was rustic and awk-
ward. His form was ungainly and disproportioned. Shoul-
ders broad and square, breast sunken, his head drooping,
his body of uniform breadth, supported by long and lank
legs, were the ingredients of his frame. His garb was not
ill adapted to such a figure. A slouched hat, tarnished by
the weather, a coat of thick gray cloth, cut and wrought,
as it seemed, by a country tailor, blue worsted stockings,
and shoes fastened by thongs and deeply discolored by
dust, which brush had never disturbed, constituted his
dress.

There was nothing remarkable in these appearances : they
were frequently to be met with on the road and in the
harvest-field. I cannot tell why I gazed upon them, on
this occasion, with more than ordinary attention, unless it

223

American Mystery Stories

were that such figures were seldom seen by me except on
the road or field. This lawn was only traversed by men
whose views were directed to the pleasures of the walk or
the grandeur of the scenery.

He passed slowly along, frequently pausing, as if to ex-
amine the prospect more deliberately, but never turning
his eye toward the house, so as to allow me a view of his
countenance. Presently he entered a copse at a small dis-
tance, and disappeared. My eye followed him while he
remained in sight. If his image remained for any dura-
tion in my fancy after his departure, it was because no
other object occurred sufficient to expel it.

I continued in the same spot for half an hour, vaguely,
and by fits,, contemplating the image of this wanderer, and
drawing from outward appearances those inferences, with
respect to the intellectual history of this person, which ex-
perience affords us. I reflected on the alliance which com-
monly subsists between ignorance and the practice of agri-
culture, and indulged myself in airy speculations as to the
influence of progressive knowledge in dissolving this alli-
ance and embodying the dreams of the poets. I asked why
the plow and the hoe might not become the trade of every
human being, and how this trade might be made conducive
to, or at least consistent with, the acquisition of wisdom and
eloquence.

Weary with these reflections, I returned to the kitchen to
perform some household office. I had usually but one serv-
ant, and she was a girl about my own age. I was busy
near the chimney, and she was employed near the door of
the apartment, when some one knocked. The door was
opened by her, and she was immediately addressed with,
" Prythee, good girl, canst thou supply a thirsty man with
a glass of buttermilk? " She answered that there was none
in the house. " Aye, but there is some in the dairy yonder.
Thou knowest as well as I, though Hermes never taught
thee, that, though every dairy be a house, every house is
not a dairy." To this speech, though she understood only
a part of it, she replied by repeating her assurances that

224

Charles Brockdcn Brozvn

she had none to give. " Well, then," rejoined the stranger,
" for charity's sweet sake, hand me forth a cup of cold
water." The girl said she would go to the spring and
fetch it. " Nay, give me the cup, and suffer me to help
myself. Neither manacled nor lame, I should merit burial
in the maw of carrion crows if I laid this task upon thee."
She gave him the cup, and he turned to go to the spring.

I listened to this dialogue in silence. The words ut-
tered by the person without affected me as somewhat
singular; but what chiefly rendered them remarkable was
the tone that accompanied them. It was wholly new. My
brother's voice and Pleyel's were musical and energetic.
I had fondly imagined that, in this respect, they were sur-
passed by none. Now my mistake was detected. I cannot
pretend to communicate the impression that was made upon
me by these accents, or to depict the degree in which force
and sweetness were blended in them. They were articu-
lated with a distinctness that was unexampled in my experi-
ence. But this was not all. The voice was not only mel-
lifluent and clear, but the emphasis was so just, and the
modulation so impassioned, that it seemed as if a heart of
stone could not fail of being moved by it. It imparted
to me an emotion altogether involuntary and uncontrollable.
When he uttered the words, " for charity's sweet sake," I
dropped the cloth that I held in my hand; my heart over-
flowed with sympathy and my eyes with unbidden tears.

This description will appear to you trifling or incredi-
ble. The importance of these circumstances will be mani-
fested in the sequel. The manner in which I was affected
on this occasion was, to my own apprehension, a subject
of astonishment. The tones were indeed such as I never
heard before; but that they should in an instant, as it
were, dissolve me in tears, will not easily be believed by
others, and can scarcely be comprehended by myself.

It will be readily supposed that I was somewhat inquisi-
tive as to the person and demeanor of our visitant. After
a moment's pause, I stepped to the door and looked after
him. Judge my surprise when I beheld the selfsame figure

225

American Mystery Stories

that had appeared a half-hour before upon the bank. My
fancy had conjured up a very different image. A form
and attitude and garb were instantly created worthy to
accompany such elocution; but this person was, in all visible
respects, the reverse of this phantom. Strange as it may
seem, I could not speedily reconcile myself to this disap-
pointment. Instead of returning to my employment, I
threw myself in a chair that was placed opposite the door,
and sunk into a fit of musing.

My attention was in a few minutes recalled by the
stranger, who returned with the empty cup in his hand.
I had not thought of the circumstance, or should cer-
tainly have chosen a different seat. He no sooner showed
himself, than a confused sense of impropriety, added to
the suddenness of the interview, for which, not having
foreseen it, I had made no preparation, threw me into a
state of the most painful embarrassment. He brought
with him a placid brow; but no sooner had he cast his
eyes upon me than his face was as glowingly suffused as
my own. He placed the cup upon the bench, stammered
out thanks, and retired.

It was some time before I could recover my wonted
composure. I had snatched a view of the stranger's coun-
tenance. The impression that it made was vivid and in-
delible. His cheeks were palHd and lank, his eyes sunken,
his forehead overshadowed by coarse straggling hairs, his
teeth large and irregular, though sound and brilliantly
white, and his chin discolored by a tetter. His skin was
of coarse grain and sallow hue. Every feature was wide of
beauty, and the outline of his face reminded you of an
inverted cone.

And yet his forehead, so far as shaggy locks would allow
it to be seen, his eyes lustrously black, and possessing, in
the midst of haggardness, a radiance inexpressibly serene
and potent, and something in the rest of his features which
it would be in vain to describe, but which served to be-
token a mind of the highest order, were essential ingre-
dients in the portrait. This, in the effects which immedi-

226

Charles Brockdcn Brown

ately flowed from it, I count among the most extraordinary
incidents of my life. This face, seen for a moment, con-
tinued for hours to occupy my fancy, to the exckision of
almost every other image. I had proposed to spend the
evening with my brother; but I could not resist the inclina-
tion of forming a sketch upon paper of this memorable
visage. Whether my hand was aided by any peculiar in-
spiration, or I was deceived by my own fond conceptions,
this portrait, though hastily executed, appeared unexcep-
tionable to my own taste.

I placed it at all distances and in all lights; my eyes
were riveted upon it. Half the night passed away in wake-
fulness and in contemplation of this picture. So flexible,
and yet so stubborn, is the human mind! So obedient to
impulses the most transient and brief, and yet so unalter-
ably observant of the direction which is given to it! How
little did I then foresee the termination of that chain of
which this may be regarded as the first link!

Next day arose in darkness and storm. Torrents of
rain fell during the whole day, attended with incessant
thunder, which reverberated in stunning echoes from the
opposite declivity. The inclemency of the air would not
allow me to walk out. I had, indeed, no inclination to
leave my apartment. I betook myself to the contempla-
tion of this portrait, whose attractions time had rather
enhanced than diminished. I laid aside my usual occu-
pations, and, seating myself at a window, consumed the
day in alternately looking out upon the storm and gazing
at the picture which lay upon a table before me. You
will perhaps deem this conduct somewhat singular, and
ascribe it to certain peculiarities of temper. I am not aware
of any such peculiarities. I can account for my devotion
to this image no otherwise than by supposing that its
properties were rare and prodigious. Perhaps you will
suspect that such were the first inroads of a passion inci-
dent to every female heart, and which frequently gains a
footing by means even more slight and more improbable
than these. I shall not controvert the reasonableness of

227

American Mystery Slorics

the suspicion, but leave you at liberty to draw from my
narrative what conclusions you please.

Night at length returned, and the storm ceased. The
air was once more clear and calm, and bore an affecting
contrast to that uproar of the elements by which it had
been preceded. I spent the darksome hours, as I spent
the day, contemplative and seated at the window. Why
Avas my mind absorbed in thoughts ominous and dreary ?
Why did my bosom heave with sighs and my eyes over-
flow with tears? Was the tempest that had just passed
a signal of the ruin which impended over me? My soul
fondly dwelt upon the images of my brother and his chil-
dren; yet they only increased the mournfulness of my con-
templations. The smiles of the charming babes were as
bland as formerly. The same dignity sat on the brow of
their father, and yet I thought of them with anguish.
Something whispered that the happiness we at present en-
joyed was set on mutable foundations. Death must hap-
pen to all. Whether our felicity was to be subverted by
it to-morrow, or whether it was ordained that we should
lay down our heads full of years and of honor, was a ques-
tion that no human being could solve. At other times these
ideas seldom intruded. I either forbore to reflect upon
the destiny that is reserved for all men, or the reflection
was mixed up with images that disrobed it of terror; but
now the uncertainty of life occurred to me without any of
its usual and alleviating accompaniments. I said to myself.
We must die. Sooner or later, we must disappear forever
from the face of the earth. Whatever be the links that
hold us to life, they must be broken. This scene of exist-
ence is, in all its parts, calamitous. The greater number
is oppressed with immediate evils, and those the tide of
whose fortunes is full, how small is their portion of enjoy^
ment, since they know that it will terminate!

For some time I indulged myself, without reluctance,
in these gloomy thoughts; but at length the dejection
which they produced became insupportably painful. I en-
deavored to dissipate it with music. I had all my grand-

228

Charles Brockdcn Brown

father's melody as well as poetry by rote. I now lighted
by chance on a ballad which commemorated the fate of a
German cavalier who fell at the siege of Nice under God-
frey of Bouillon. My choice was unfortunate ; for the scenes
of violence and carnage which were here wildly but for-
cibly portrayed only suggested to my thoughts a new topic
in the horrors of war.

I sought refuge, but ineffectually, in sleep. My mind
was thronged by vivid but confused images, and no effort
that I made vv'as sufficient to drive them away. In this
situation I heard the clock, which hung hi the room, give
the signal for twelve. It was the same instrument which
formerly hung in my father's chamber, and which, on ac-
count of its being his workmanship, was regarded by every-
one of our family with veneration. It had fallen to me
in the division of his property, and was placed in this asy-
lum. The sound awakened a series of reflections respect-
ing his death. I was not allowed to pursue them ; for
scarcely had the vibrations ceased, when my attention was
attracted by a whisper, which, at first, appeared to proceed
from lips that were laid close to my ear.

No wonder that a circumstance like this startled me.
In the first impulse of my terror, I uttered a slight scream
and shrunk to the opposite side of the bed. In a moment,
however, I recovered from my trepidation. I was habitu-
ally indifferent to all the causes of fear by which the ma-
jority are afflicted. I entertained no apprehension of
either ghosts or robbers. Our security had never been
molested by either, and I made use of no means to pre-
vent or counterwork their machinations. My tranquillity
on this occasion was quickly retrieved. The whisper evi-
dently proceeded from one who was posted at my bedside.
The first idea that suggested itself was that it was uttered
by the girl who lived with me as a servant. Perhaps some-
what had alarmed her, or she was sick, and had come to
request my assistance. By whispering in my ear she in-
tended to rouse without alarming me.

Full of this persuasion, I called, "Judith, is it you?

229

American Mystery Stories

What do you want? Is there anything the matter with
you?" No answer was returned. I repeated my inquiry,
but equally in vain. Cloudy as was the atmosphere, and
curtained as my bed was, nothing was visible. I withdrew
the curtain, and, leaning my head on my elbow, I listened
with the deepest attention to catch some new sound.
Meanwhile, I ran over in my thoughts every circumstance
that could assist my conjectures.

My habitation was a wooden edifice, consisting of two
stories. In each story were two rooms, separated by an
entry, or middle passage, with which they communicated
by opposite doors. The passage on the lower story had
doors at the two ends, and a staircase. Windows answered
to the doors on the upper story. Annexed to this, on
the eastern side, were wings, divided in like manner into
an upper and lower room; one of them comprised a kitchen,
and chamber above it for the servant, and communicated
on both stories with the parlor adjoining it below and the
chamber adjoining it above. The opposite wing is of
smaller dimensions, the rooms not being above eight feet
square. The lower of these was used as a depository of
household implements; the upper was a closet in which I
deposited my books and papers. They had but one inlet,
which was from the room adjoining. There was no window
in the lower one, and in the upper a small aperture which
communicated light and air, but would scarcely admit the
body. The door which led into this was close to my bed
head, and was always locked but when I myself was within.
The avenues below were accustomed to be closed and
bolted at nights.

The maid was my only companion; and she could not
reach my chamber without previously passing through the
opposite chamber and the middle passage, of which, how-
ever, the doors were usually unfastened. If she had oc-
casioned this noise, she would have answered my repeated
calls. No other conclusion, therefore, was left me, but
that I had mistaken the sounds, and that my imagination
had transformed some casual noise into the voice of a

230

Charles Brockden Brown

human creature. Satisfied with this solution, I was pre-
paring to relinquish my listening attitude, when my ear
was again saluted with a new and yet louder whispering.
It appeared, as before, to issue from lips that touched my
pillow. A second effort of attention, however, clearly
showed me that the sounds issued from within the closet,
the door of which was not more than eight inches from my
pillow.

This second interruption occasioned a shock less vehe-
ment than the former. I started, but gave no audible token
of alarm. I was so much mistress of my feelings as to
continue listening to what should be said. The whisper
was distinct, hoarse, and uttered so as to show that the
speaker was desirous of being heard by some one near, but,
at the same time, studious to avoid being overheard by
any other: —

" Stop! stop, I say, madman as you are! there are better
means than that. Curse upon your rashness! There is no
need to shoot."

Such were the words uttered, in a tone of eagerness and
anger, within so small a distance of my pillow. What con-
struction could I put upon them? My heart began to pal-
pitate with dread of some unknown danger. Presently,
another voice, but equally near me, was heard whispering
in answer, " Why not? I will draw a trigger in this busi-
ness ; but perdition be my lot if I do more ! " To this the
first voice returned, in a tone which rage had heightened
in a small degree above a whisper, " Coward! stand aside,
and see me do it. I will grasp her throat; I will do her
business in an instant; she shall not have time so much as
to groan." What wonder that I was petrified by sounds
so dreadful! Murderers lurked in my closet. They were
planning the means of my destruction. One resolved to
shoot, and the other menaced suffocation. Their means
being chosen, they would forthwith break the door. Flight
instantly suggested itself as most eligible in circumstances
so perilous. I deliberated not a moment; but, fear adding
wings to my speed, I leaped out of bed, and, scantily robed

231

American Mystery Stories

as I was, rushed out of the chamber, downstairs, and into
the open air, I can hardly recollect the process of turn-
ing keys and withdrawing bolts. My terrors urged me
forward with almost a mechanical impulse. I stopped not
till I reached my brother's door. I had not gained the
threshold, when, exhausted by the violence of my emotions
and by my speed, I sunk down in a fit.

How long I remained in this situation I know not.
When I recovered, I found myself stretched on a bed,
surrounded by my sister and her female servants. I was
astonished at the scene before me, but gradually recovered
the recollection of what had happened. I answered their
importunate inquiries as well as I was able. My brother
and Pleyel, whom the storm of the preceding day chanced
to detain here, informing themselves of every particular,
proceeded with lights and weapons to my deserted habi-
tation. They entered my chamber and my closet, and found
everything in its proper place and customary order. The
door of the closet was locked, and appeared not to have
been opened in m.y absence. They went to Judith's apart-
ment. They found her asleep and in safety. Pleyel's cau-
tion induced him to forbear alarming the girl; and, finding
her wholly ignorant of what had passed, they directed her
to return to her chamber. They then fastened the doors
and returned.

My friends were disposed to regard this transaction as
a dream. That persons should be actually immured in
this closet, to which, in the circumstances of the time,
access from without or within was apparently impossible,
they could not seriously believe. That any human beings
had intended murder, unless it were to cover a scheme of
pillage, was incredible; but that no such design had been
formed was evident from the security in which the furni-
ture of the house and the closet remained.

I revolved every incident and expression that had oc-
curred. My senses assured me of the truth of them; and
yet their abruptness and improbability made me, in my
turn, somewhat incredulous. The adventure had made a

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

deep impression on my fancy; and it was not till after a
week's abode at my brother's that I resolved to resume the
possession of my own dwelling.

There was another circumstance that enhanced the mys-
teriousness of this event. After my recovery, it was ob-
vious to inquire by what means the attention of the family
had been drawn to my situation. I had fallen before I
had reached the threshold or was able to give any signal.
My brother related that, while this was transacting in my
chamber, he himself was awake, in consequence of some
slight indisposition, and lay, according to his custom, mus-
ing on some favorite topic. Suddenly the silence, which
was remarkably profound, was broken by a voice of most
piercing shrillness, that seemed to be uttered by one in the
hall below his chamber. "Awake! arise!" it exclaimed;
" hasten to succor one that is dying at your door! "

This summons was effectual. There was no one in the
house who was not roused by it. Pleyel was the first to
obey, and my brother overtook him before he reached the
hall. What was the general astonishment when your friend
was discovered stretched upon the grass before the door,
pale, ghastly, and with every mark of death!

But how was I to regard this midnight conversation?
Hoarse and manlike voices conferring on the means of
death, so near my bed, and at such an hour! How had
my ancient security vanished! That dwelling which had
hitherto been an inviolate asylum was now beset with dan-
ger to my life. That solitude formerly so dear to me could
no longer be endured. Pleyel, who had consented to reside
with us during the months of spring, lodged in the vacant
chamber, in order to quiet my alarms. He treated my
fears with ridicule, and in a short time very slight traces
of them remained; but, as it was wholly indifferent to him
whether his nights were passed at my house or at my
brother's, this arrangement gave general satisfaction.

2Z2>

American Mystery Stories

II

I WILL enumerate the various inquiries and conjectures
which these incidents occasioned. After all our efforts, we
came no nearer to dispelling the mist in which they were
involved ; and time, instead of facilitating a solution, only
accumulated our doubts.

In the midst of thoughts excited by these events, I was
not unmindful of my interview with the stranger. I related
the particulars, and showed the portrait to my friends.
Pleyel recollected to have met with a figure resembling my
description in the city ; but neither his face or garb made
the same impression upon him that it made upon me. It
was a hint to rally me upon my prepossessions, and to amuse
us with a thousand ludicrous anecdotes which he had col-
lected in his travels. He made no scruple to charge me
with being in love ; and threatened to inform the swain,
when he met him, of his good fortune.

Pleyel's temper made him susceptible of no durable im-
pressions. His conversation was occasionally visited by
gleams of his ancient vivacity ; but, though his impetuosity
was sometimes inconvenient, there was nothing to dread
from his malice. I had no fear that my character or dignity
would suffer in his hands, and was not heartily displeased
when he declared his intention of profiting by his first meet-
ing with the stranger to introduce him to our acquaintance.

Some weeks after this I had spent a toilsome day, and,
as the sun declined, found myself disposed to seek relief in
a walk. The river bank is, at this part of it and for some
considerable space upward, so rugged and steep as not to
be easily descended. In a recess of this declivity, near the
southern verge of my little demesne, was placed a slight
building, with seats and lattices. From a crevice of the rock
to which this edifice was attached there burst forth a stream
of the purest water, which, leaping from ledge to ledge for
the space of sixty feet, produced a freshness in the air, and
a rriurmur, the most delicious and soothing imaginable.

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Charles Brockdcn Brozvn

These, adi.led to the odors of the cedars which embowered
it, and of the honeysuckle which clustered among the lat-
tices, rendered this my favorite retreat in summer.

On this occasion I repaired hither. My spirits drooped
through the fatigue of long attention, and I threw myself
upon a bench, in a state, both mentally and personally, of
the utmost supineness. The lulling sounds of the water-
fall, the fragrance, and the dusk, combined to becalm my
spirits, and, in a short time, to sink me into sleep. Either
the uneasiness of my posture, or some slight indisposition,
molested my repose with dreams of no cheerful hue. After
various incoherences had taken their turn to occupy my
fancy, I at length imagined myself walking, in the evening
twilight, to my brother's habitation. A pit, methought, had
been dug in the path I had taken, of which I was not aware.
As I carelessly pursued my walk, I thought I saw my
brother standing at some distance before me, beckoning and
calling me to make haste. He stood on the opposite edge
of the gulf. I mended my pace, and one step more would
have plunged me into this abyss, had not some one from
behind caught suddenly my arm, and exclaimed, in a voice
of eagerness and terror, " Hold ! hold ! "

The sound broke my sleep, and I found myself, at the
next moment, standing on my feet, and surrounded by the
deepest darkness. Images so terrific and forcible disabled
me for a time from distinguishing between sleep and wake-
fulness, and withheld from me the knowledge of my actual
condition. My first panic was succeeded by the perturba-
tions of surprise to find myself alone in the open air and
immersed in so deep a gloom. I slowly recollected the in-
cidents of the afternoon, and how I came hither. I could
not estimate the time, but saw the propriety of returning
with speed to the house. My faculties were still too con-
fused, and the darkness too intense, to allow me immedi-
ately to find my way up the steep. I sat down, therefore,
to recover myself, and to reflect upon my situation.

This was no sooner done, than a low voice was heard
from behind the lattice, on the side where I sat. Between

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American Mystery Stories

the rock and the lattice was a chasm not wide enough to
admit a human body ; yet in this chasm he that spoke ap-
peared to be stationed, " Attend ! attend ! but be not ter-
rified."

I started, and exclaimed, " Good heavens ! what is that ?
Who are you ? "

" A friend ; one come not to injure but to save you : fear
nothing."

This voice was immediately recognized to be the same
with one of those which I had heard in the closet ; it was
the voice of him who had proposed to shoot rather than to
strangle his victim. My terror made me at once mute and
motionless. He continued, " I leagued to murder you. I
repent. Mark my bidding, and be safe. Avoid this spot.
The snares of death encompass it. Elsewhere danger will
be distant ; but this spot, shun it as you value your life.
Mark me further : profit by this warning, but divulge it not.
If a syllable of what has passed escape you, your doom is
sealed. Remember your father, and be faithful."

Here the accents ceased, and left me overwhelmed with
dismay, I was fraught with the persuasion that during
every moment I remained here my life was endangered ; but
I could not take a step without hazard of falling to the bot-
tom of the precipice. The path leading to the summit was
short, but rugged and intricate. Even starlight was ex-
cluded by the umbrage, and not the faintest gleam was af-
forded to guide my steps. What should I do? To depart
or remain was equally and eminently perilous.

In this state of uncertainty, I perceived a ray flit across
the gloom and disappear. Another succeeded, which was
stronger, and remained for a passing moment. It glittered
on the shrubs that were scattered at the entrance, and gleam
continued to succeed gleam for a few seconds, till they
finally gave place to unintermitted darkness.

The first visitings of this light called up a train of horrors
in mv mind ; destruction impended over this spot ; the voice
v.-hich I had lately heard had warned me to retire, and had
menaced me with the fate of my father if I refused. I was

2s6

Charles Brockden Brown

desirous, but unable to obey; these gleams were such as
preluded the stroke by which he fell ; the hour, perhaps, was
the same. I shuddered as if I had beheld suspended over
me the exterminating- sword.

Presently a new and stronger illumination burst through
the lattice on the right hand, and a voice from the edge of
the precipice above called out my name. It was Pleyel.
Joyfully did I recognize his accents ; but such was the
tumult of my thoughts that I had not power to answer him
till he had frequently repeated his summons. I hurried at
length from the fatal spot, and, directed by tlie lantern which
he bore, ascended the hill.

Pale and breathless, it was with difficulty I could support
myself. He anxiously inquired into the cause of my af-
fright and the motive of my unusual absence. He had re-
turned from my brother's at a late hour, and was informicd
by Judith that I had walked out before sunset and had not
yet returned. This intelligence was somewhat alarming.
He waited some time; but, my absence continuing, he had
set out in search of me. He had explored the neighborhood
with the utmost care, but, receiving no tidings of me, he
was preparing to acquaint my brother with this circumstance,
when he recollected the summer-house on the bank, and
conceived it possible that some accident had detained me
there. He again inquired into the cause of this deten-
tion, and of that confusion and dismay which my looks
testified.

I told him that I had strolled hither in the afternoon, that
sleep had overtaken me as I sat, and that I had awakened
a few minutes before his arrival. I could tell him no more.
In the present impetuosity of my thoughts, I was almost
dubious whether the pit into which my brother had en-
deavored to entice me, and the voice that talked through the
lattice, were not parts of the same dream. I remembered,
likewise, the charge of secrecy, and the penalty denounced
if I should rashly divulge what I had heard. For these
reasons I was silent on that subject, and, shutting myself
in my chamber, delivered myself up to contemplation.

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American Mystery Stories

What I have related will, no doubt, appear to you a fable.
You will believe that calamity has subverted my reason, and
that I am amusing you with the chimeras of my brain in-
stead of facts that have really happened. I shall not be
surprised or offended if these be your suspicions. I know
not, indeed, how you can deny them admission. For, if to
me, the immediate witness, they were fertile of perplexity
and doubt, how must they affect another to whom they are
recommended only by my testimony? It was only by sub-
sequent events that I was fully and incontestably assured of
the veracity of my senses.

Meanwhile, what was I to think? I had been assured
that a design had been formed against my life. The ruffians
had leagued to murder me. Whom had I offended? Who
was there, with whom I had ever maintained intercourse,
who was capable of harboring such atrocious purposes ?

My temper was the reverse of cruel and imperious. My
heart was touched with sympathy for the children of mis-
fortune. But this sympathy was not a barren sentiment.
My purse, scanty as it was, was ever open, and my hands
ever active, to relieve distress. Many were the wretches
whom my personal exertions had extricated from want and
disease, and who rewarded me with their gratitude. There
was no face which lowered at my approach, and no lips
which uttered imprecations in my hearing. On the con-
trary, there was none, over whose fate I had exerted any
influence or to whom I was known by reputation, who did
not greet me with smiles and dismiss me with proofs of
veneration : yet did not my senses assure me that a plot was
laid against my Hfe?

I am not destitute of courage. I have shown myself de-
liberative and calm in the midst of peril. I have hazarded
my own life for the preservation of another; but now was
I confused and panic-struck. I have not lived so as to fear
death ; yet to perish by an unseen and secret stroke, to be
mangled by the knife of an assassin, was a thought at which
I shuddered: what had I done to deserve to be made the
victim of malignant passions?

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

But soft! was I not assured that my life was safe in all
places but one? And why was the treason limited to take
effect in this spot? I was everywhere equally defenseless.
My house and chamber were at all times accessible. Danger
still impended over me ; the bloody purpose was still enter-
tained, but the hand that was to execute it was powerless
in all places but one !

Here I had remained for the last four or five hours, with-
out the means of resistance or defense; yet I had not been
attacked. A human being was at hand, who was conscious
of my presence, and warned me hereafter to avoid this re-
treat. His voice was not absolutely new, but had I never
heard it but once before ? But why did he prohibit me from
relating this incident to others, and what species of death
will be awarded if I disobey?

Such were the reflections that haunted me during the
night, and which effectually deprived me of sleep. Next
morning, at breakfast, Pleyel related an event which my dis-
appearance had hindered him from mentioning the night be-
fore. Early the preceding morning, his occasions called him
to the city : he had stepped into a coffee-house to while away
an hour; here he had met a person whose appearance in-
stantly bespoke him to be the same whose hasty visit I have
mentioned, and whose extraordinary visage and tones had
so powerfully affected me. On an attentive survey, how-
ever, he proved, likewise, to be one with whom my friend
had had some intercourse in Europe. This authorized the
liberty of accosting him, and after some conversation, mind-
ful, as Pleyel said, of the footing which this stranger had
gained in my heart, he had ventured to invite him to Met-
tingen. The invitation had been cheerfully accepted, and a
visit promised on the afternoon of the next day.

This information excited no sober emotions in my breast.
I was, of course, eager to be informed as to the circum-
stances of their ancient intercourse. When and where had
they met ? What knew he of the life and character of this
man?

In answer to my inquiries, he informed me that, three

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American Mystery Stories

years before, he was a traveler in Spain. He had made an
excursion from Valencia to Murviedro, with a view to in-
spect the remains of Roman magnificence scattered in the
environs of that town. While traversing the site of the
theater of old Saguntum, he alighted upon this man, seated
on a stone, and deeply engaged in perusing the work of the
deacon Marti. A short conversation ensued, which proved
the stranger to be English. They returned to Valencia to-
gether.

His garb, aspect, and deportment were wholly Spanish.
A residence of three years in the country, indefatigable at-
tention to the language, and a studious conformity with the
customs of the people, had made him indistinguishable from
a native when he chose to assume that character. Pleyel
found him to be connected, on the footing of friendship and
respect, with many eminent merchants in that city. He had
embraced the Catholic religion, and adopted a Spanish name
instead of his own, which was Carw^in, and devoted him-
self to the literature and religion of his new country. He
pursued no profession, but subsisted on remittances from
England.

While Pleyel remained in Valencia, Carwin betrayed no
aversion to intercourse, and the former found no small at-
tractions in the society of this new acquaintance. On gen-
eral topics he was highly intelligent and communicative. He
had visited every corner of Spain, and could furnish the
most accurate details respecting its ancient and present state.
On topics of religion and of his own history, previous to
his transformation into a Spaniard, he was invariably silent.
You could merely gather from his disccurse that he was
English, and that he was well acquainted with the neighbor-
ing countries.

His character excited considerable curiosity in the ob-
server. It was not easy to reconcile his conversion to the
Romish faith with those proofs of knowledge and capacity
that were exhibited by him on different occasions. A sus-
picion was sometimes admitted that his belief was counter-
feited for some political purpose. The most careful ob-

240

Charles Brockdcn Broivn

servation, however, produced no discovery. His manners
were at all times harmless and inartificial, and his habits
those of a lover of contemplation and seclusion. He ap-
peared to have contracted an affection for Pleyel, who was
not slow to return it.

My friend, after a month's residence in this city, returned
into France, and, since that period, had heard nothing con-
cerning Carwin till his appearance at Mettingen.

On this occasion Carwin had received Pleyel's greeting
with a certain distance and solemnity to which the latter had
not been accustomed. He had waived noticing the inquiries
of Pleyel respecting his desertion of Spain, in which he had
formerly declared that it was his purpose to spend his life.
He had assiduously diverted the attention of the latter to
indifferent topics, but was still, on every theme, as eloquent
and judicious as formerly. Why he had assumed the garb
of a rustic Pleyel was unable to conjecture. Perhaps it
might be poverty ; perhaps he was swayed by motives which
it was his interest to conceal, but which were connected with
consequences of the utmost moment.

Such was the sum of my friend's information. I was not
sorry to be left alone during the greater part of this day.
Every employment was irksome which did not leave me at
liberty to m^editate. I had now a new subject on which to
exercise my thoughts. Before evening I should be ushered
into his presence, and listen to those tones whose magical
and thrilling power I had already experienced. But with
what new images would he then be accompanied?

Carwin was an adherent to the Romish faith, yet was an
Englishman by birth, and, perhaps, a Protestant by educa-
tion. He had adopted Spain for his country, and had inti-
mated a design to spend his days there, yet now was an
inhabitant of this district, and disguised by the habiliments
of a clown ! What could have obliterated the impressions of
his youth and made him abjure his religion and his country?
What subsequent events had introduced so total a change
in his plans ? In withdrawing from Spain, had he reverted
to the religion of his ancestors ? or was it true that his f or-

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American Mystery Stories

mer conversion was deceitful, and that his conduct had been
swayed by motives which it was prudent to conceal?

Hours were consumed in revolving these ideas. My medi-
tations were intense ; and, when the series was broken, I
began to reflect with astonishment on my situation. From
the death of my parents till the commencement of this year
my life had been serene and blissful beyond the ordinary
portion of humanity ; but now my bosom was corroded by
anxiety. I was visited by dread of unknown dangers, and
the future was a scene over which clouds rolled and thun-
ders muttered. I compared the cause with the efifect, and
they seemed disproportioned to each other. All unaware,
and in a manner which I had no power to explain, I was
pushed from my immovable and lofty station and cast upon
a sea of troubles.

I determined to be my brother's visitant on this evening;
yet my resolves were not unattended with wavering and re-
luctance. Pleyel's insinuations that I was in love affected
in no degree my belief; yet the consciousness that this was
the opinion of one who would probably be present at our
introduction to each other would excite all that confusion
which the passion itself is apt to produce. This would con-
firm him in his error and call forth new railleries. His
mirth, when exerted upon this topic, was the source of the
bitterest vexation. Had he been aware of its influence upon
my happiness, his temper would not have allowed him to
persist ; but this influence it was my chief endeavor to con-
ceal. That the belief of my having bestowed my heart
upon another produced in my friend none but ludicrous sen-
sations was the true cause of my distress ; but if this had
been discovered by him my distress would have been un-
speakably aggravated.

Ill

As soon as evening arrived, I performed my visit. Car-
win made one of the company into which I was ushered.

242

Charles Brockdcn Brozmi

Appearances were the same as when I before beheld him.
His garb was equally negligent and rustic. I gazed upon
his countenance with new curiosity. My situation was such
as to enable me to bestow upon it a deliberate examination.
Viewed at more leisure, it lost none of its wonderful proper-
ties. I could not deny my homage to the intelligence ex-
pressed in it, but was wholly uncertain whether he were
an object to be dreaded or adored, and whether his powers
had been exerted to evil or to good.

He was sparing in discourse ; but whatever he said was
pregnant with meaning, and uttered with rectitude of articu-
lation and force of emphasis of which I had entertained no
conception previously to my knowledge of him. Notwith-
standing the uncouthness of his garb, his manners were not
unpolished. All topics were handled by him with skill, and
without pedantry or affectation. He uttered no sentiment
calculated to produce a disadvantageous impression ; on the
contrary, his observations denoted a mind alive to every gen-
erous and heroic feeling. They were introduced without
parade, and accompanied with that degree of earnestness
which indicates sincerity.

He parted from us not till late, refusing an invitation to
spend the night here, but readily consented to repeat his
visit. His visits were frequently repeated. Each day intro-
duced us to a more intimate acquaintance with his senti-
ments, but left us wholly in the dark concerning that about
which we were most inquisitive. He studiously avoided all
mention of his past or present situation. Even the place of
his abode in the city he concealed from us.

Our sphere in this respect being somewhat limited, and
the intellectual endowments of this man being indisputably
great, his deportment was more diligently marked and copi-
ously commented on by us than you, perhaps, will think the
circumstances warranted. Not a gesture, or glance, or ac-
cent, that was not, in our private assemblies, discussed, and
inferences deduced from it. It may well be thought that
he modeled his behavior by an uncommon standard, when,
with all our opportunities and accuracy of observation, we

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Avicrican Mystery Stories

were able for a long time to gather no satisfactory informa-
tion. He afforded us no ground on which to build even a
plausible conjecture.

There is a degree of familiarity which takes place between
constant associates, that justifies the negligence of many
rules of which, in an earlier period of their intercourse, po-
liteness requires the exact observance. Inquiries into our
condition are allowable when they are prompted by a dis-
interested concern for our welfare ; and this solicitude is not
only pardonable, but may justly be demanded from those
who choose us for their companions. This state of things
was more slow to arrive at on this occasion than on most
others, on account of the gravity and loftiness of this man's
behavior.

Pleyel, however, began at length to employ regular means
for this end. He occasionally alluded to the circumstances
in which they had formerly met, and remarked the incon-
gruousness between the religion and habits of a Spaniard
with those of a native of Britain. He expressed his aston-
ishment at meeting our guest in this corner of the globe,
especially as, when they parted in Spain, he was taught to
believe that Carwin should never leave that country. He
insinuated that a change so great must have been prompted
by motives of a singular and momentous kind.

No answer, or an answer wide of the purpose, was gen-
erally made to these insinuations. Britons and Spaniards,
he said, are votaries of the same Deity, and square their
faith by the same precepts ; their ideas are drawn from the
same fountains of literature, and they speak dialects of the
same tongue ; their government and laws have more resem-
blances than differences ; they were formerly provinces of
the same civil, and, till lately, of the same religious, empire.

As to the motives which induce men to change the place
of their abode, these must unavoidably be fleeting and muta-
ble. H not bound to one spot by conjugal or parental ties,
or by the nature of that employment to which we are in-
debted for subsistence, the inducements to change are far
more numerous and powerful than opposite inducements.

244

Charles Brockdcn Brozvn

He spoke as if desirous of shewing that he was not aware
of the tendency of Pleyel's remarks ; yet certain tokens were
apparent that proved him by no means wanting in penetra-
tion. These tokens were to be read in his countenance, and
not in his words. When anything was said indicating curi-
osity in us, the gloom of his countenance was deepened, his
eyes sunk to the ground, and his wonted air was not resumed
without visible struggle. Hence, it was obvious to infer that
some incidents of his life were reflected on by him with
regret ; and that, since these incidents were carefully con-
cealed, and even that regret which flowed from them labori-
ously stifled, they had not been merely disastrous. The
secrecy that was observed appeared not designed to provoke
or haffie the inquisitive, but was prompted by the shame or
by the prudence of guilt.

These ideas, which were adopted by Pleyel and my brother
as well as myself, hindered us from employing more direct
means for accomplishing our wishes. Questions might have
been put in such terms that no room should be left for
the pretense of misapprehension ; and, if modesty merely
had been the obstacle, such questions would not have been
wanting; but we considered that, if the disclosure were
productive of pain or disgrace, it was inhuman to ex-
tort it.

Amidst the various topics that were discussed in his pres-
ence, allusions were, of course, made to the inexplicable
events that had lately happened. At those times the words
and looks of this man were objects of my particular atten-
tion. The subject was extraordinary; and anyone whose
experience or reflections could throw any light upon it was
entitled to my gratitude. As this man was enlightened by
reading and travel, I listened with eagerness to the remarks
which he should make.

At first I entertained a kind of apprehension that the tale
would be heard by him with incredulity and secret ridicule.
I had formerly heard stories that resembled this in some
of their mysterious circumstances ; but they were commonly
heard by me with contempt. I was doubtful whether the

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same impression would not now be made on the mind of
our guest; but I was mistaken in my fears.

He heard them with seriousness, and without any marks
either of surprise or increduHty. He pursued with visible
pleasure that kind of disquisition which was naturally sug-
gested by them. His fancy was eminently vigorous and
prolific; and, if he did not persuade us that human beings
are sometimes admitted to a sensible intercourse with the
Author of nature, he at least won over our inclination
to the cause. He merely deduced, from his own reason-
ings, that such intercourse was probable, but confessed that,
though he was acquainted with many instances somewhat
similar to those which had been related by us, none of
them were perfectly exempted from the suspicion of hu-
man agency.

On being requested to relate these instances, he amused
us with many curious details. His narratives were con-
structed with so much skill, and rehearsed with so much
energy, that all the effects of a dramatic exhibition were fre-
quently produced by them. Those that were m.ost coherent
and most minute, and, of consequence, least entitled to credit,
were yet rendered probable by the exquisite art of this
rhetorician. For every difficulty that was suggested a ready
and plausible solution was furnished. I^.Iysterious voices had
always a share in producing the catastrophe ; but they were
always to be explained on some known principles, either as
reflected into a focus or communicated through a tube. I
could not but remark that his narratives, however complex
or marvelous, contained no instance sufficiently parallel to
those that had befallen ourselves, and in which the solution
was applicable to our own case.

My brother was a much more sanguine reasoner than our
guest. Even in some of the facts which were related by
Carwin, he maintained the probability of celestial interfer-
ence, when the latter was disposed to deny it, and had found,
as he imagined, footsteps of a human agent. Pleyel was by
no means equally credulous. He scrupled not to deny faith
to any testimony but that of his senses, and allowed the

246

Charles Brockdcn Broivn

facts which had lately been supported by this testimony not to
mold his belief, but merely to give birth to doubts.

It was soon observed that Carwin adopted, in some de-
gree, a similar distinction. A tale of this kind, related by
others, he would believe, provided it was explicable upon
known principles ; but that such notices were actually com-
municated by beings of a higher order he would believe only
when his own ears were assailed in a manner which could
not be otherwise accounted for. Civility forbade him to
contradict my brother or myself, but his understanding re-
fused to acquiesce in our testimony. Besides, he was dis-
posed to question whether the voices were not really uttered
by human organs. On this supposition he was desired to
explain how the effect was produced.

He answered that the cry for help, heard in the hall
on th© night of my adventure, was to be ascribed to a
human creature, who actually stood in the hall when he
uttered it. It was of no moment, he said, that we could
not explain by what motives he that made the signal was
led hither. How imperfectly acquainted were we with the
condition and designs of the beings that surrounded us!
The city was near at hand, and thousands might there exist
whose powers and purposes might easily explain whatever
was mysterious in this transaction. As to the closet dia-
logue, he was obliged to adopt one of two suppositions, and
affirm either that it was fashioned in my own fancy, or that
it actually took place between two persons in the closet.

Such was Carwin's mode of explaining these appearances.
It is such, perhaps, as would commend itself as most plaus-
ible to the most sagacious minds ; but it was insufficient to
impart conviction to us. As to the treason that was medi-
tated against me, it was doubtless just to conclude that it
was either real or imaginary ; but that it was real was at-
tested by the mysterious warning in the summer-house, the
secret of which I had hitherto locked up in my own breast.

A month passed away in this kind of intercourse. As to
Carwin, our ignorance was in no degree enlightened respect-
ing his genuine character and views. Appearances were

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uniform. No man possessed a larger store of knowledge,
or a greater degree of skill in the communication of it to
others ; hence he was regarded as an inestimable addition to
our society. Considering the distance of my brother's house
from the city, he was frequently prevailed upon to pass the
night where he spent the evening. Two days seldom elapsed
without a visit from him; hence he was regarded as a kind
of inmate of the house. He entered and departed without
ceremony. When he arrived he received an unaffected wel-
come, and when he chose to retire no importunities were
used to induce him to remain.

Carwin never parted with his gravity. The inscrutable-
ness of his character, and the uncertainty whether his fel-
lowship tended to good or to evil, were seldom absent from
our minds. This circumstance powerfully contributed to
sadden us.

My heart was the seat of growing disquietudes. This
change in one who had formerly been characterized by all
the exuberances of soul could not fail to be remarked by
my friends. My brother was always a pattern of solemnity.
My sister was clay, molded by the circumstances in which
she happened to be placed. There was but one whose de-
portment remains to be described as being of importance to
our happiness. Had Pleyel likewise dismissed his vivacity?

He was as whimsical and jestful as ever, but he was not
happy. The truth in this respect w^as of too much impor-
tance to me not to make me a vigilant observer. His mirth
was easily perceived to be the fruit of exertion. When his
thoughts wandered from the company, an air of dissatis-
faction and impatience stole across his features. Even the
punctuality and frequency of his visits w^ere somewhat less-
ened. It may be supposed that my own uneasiness was
heightened by these tokens ; but, strange as it may seem, I
found, in the present state of my mind, no relief but in the
persuasion that Pleyel was unhappy.

That unhappiness, indeed, depended for its value in my
eyes on the cause that produced it. There was but one
source whence it could flow. A nameless ecstasy thrilled

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

through my frame when any new proof occurred that the
ambiguousness of my behavior was the cause.

IV

My brother had received a new book from Germany, It
was a tragedy, and the first attempt of a Saxon poet of whom
my brother had been taught to entertain the highest ex-
pectations. The exploits of Zisca, the Bohemian hero, were
woven into a dramatic series and connection. According to
German custom, it was minute and diffuse, and dictated by
an adventurous and lawless fancy. It was a chain of auda-
cious acts and unheard-of disasters. The moated fortress
and the thicket, the ambush and the battle, and the conflict
of headlong passions, were portrayed in wild numbers and
with terrific energy. An afternoon was set apart to rehearse
this performance. The language was familiar to all of us
but Carwin, whose company, therefore, was tacitly dispensed
with.

The morning previous to this intended rehearsal I spent
at home. My mind was occupied with reflections relative tO'
my own situation. The sentiment which lived with chief
energy in my heart was connected with the image of Pleyel.
In the midst of my anguish, I had not been destitute of con-
solation. His late deportment had given spring to my hopes.
Was not the hour at hand which should render me the hap-
piest of human creatures ? He suspected that I looked with
favorable eyes upon Carwin. Hence arose disquietudes
which he struggled in vain to conceal. He loved me, but
was hopeless that his love would be compensated. Is it not
time, said I, to rectify this error? But by what means is
this to be effected? It can only be done by a change of
deportment in me ; but how must I demean myself for this
purpose ?

I must not speak. Neither eyes nor lips must impart the
information. He must not be assured that my heart is his,
previous to the tender of his own ; but he must be convinced.

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that it has not been given to another ; he must be supplied
with space whereon to build a doubt as to the true state of
my affections ; he must be prompted to avow himself. The
line of delicate propriety, — how hard it is not to fall short,
and not to overleap it !

This afternoon we shall meet. . . . We shall not sepa-
rate till late. It will be his province to accompany me
home. The airy expanse is without a speck. This breeze
is usually steadfast, and its promise of a bland and cloudless
evening may be trusted. The moon will rise at eleven, and
at that hour we shall wind along this bank. Possibly that
hour may decide my fate. If suitable encouragement be
given, Pleyel will reveal his soul to me; and I, ere I reach
^his threshold, will be made the happiest of beings.

And is this good to be mine? Add wings to thy speed,
sweet evening; and thou, moon, I charge thee, shroud thy
beams at the moment when my Pleyel whispers love, I
would not for the world that the burning blushes and the
mounting raptures of that moment should be visible.

But what encouragement is wanting? I must be regard-
ful of insurmountable limits. Yet, when minds are imbued
with a genuine sympathy, are not words and looks super-
fluous ? Are not motion and touch sufficient to impart feel-
ings such as mine? Has he not eyed me at moments when
the pressure of his hand has thrown me into tumults, and
was it impossible that he mistook the impetuosities of love
for the eloquence of indignation?

But the hastening evening will decide. Would it were
come ! And yet I shudder at its near approach. An inter-
view that must thus terminate is surely to be wished for by
me ; and yet it is not without its terrors. Would to heaven
it were come and gone!

I feel no reluctance, my friends, to be thus explicit. Time
was, when these emotions would be hidden with immeasur-
able solicitude from every human eye. Alas ! these airy and
fleeting impulses of shame are gone. My scruples were pre-
posterous and criminal. They are bred in all hearts by a
perverse and vicious education, and they would still have

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

maintained their place in my heart, had not my portion been
set in misery. My errors have taught me thus much wis-
dom : — that those sentiments which we ought not to disclose
it is criminal to harbor.

It was proposed to begin the rehearsal at four o'clock. I
counted the minutes as they passed ; their flight was at once
too rapid and too slow : my sensations were of an excruci-
ating kind ; I could taste no food, nor apply to any task, nor
enjoy a moment's repose; when the hour arrived I hastened
to my brother's.

Pleyel was not there. He had not yet come. On ordi-
nary occasions he was eminent for punctuality. He had
testified great eagerness to share in the pleasures of this
rehearsal. He was to divide the task with my brother, and
in tasks like these he always engaged with peculiar zeal.
His elocution was less sweet than sonorous, and, therefore,
better adapted than the mellifluences of his friend to the out-
rageous vehemence of this drama.

What could detain him? Perhaps he lingered through
forgetfulness. Yet this was incredible. Never had his mem-
ory been known to fail upon even more trivial occasions.
Not less impossible was it that the scheme had lost its at-
tractions, and that he stayed because his coming would
afiford him no gratification. But why should we expect
him to adhere to the minute?

A half-hour elapsed, but Pleyel was still at a distance.
Perhaps he had misunderstood the hour which had been pro-
posed. Perhaps he had conceived that to-morrow, and not
to-day, had been selected for this purpose; but no. A re-
view of preceding circumstances demonstrated that such mis-
apprehension was impossible ; for he had himself proposed
this day, and this hour. This day his attention would not
otherwise be occupied ; but to-morrow an indispensable en-
gagement was foreseen, by which all his time would be
engrossed ; his detention, therefore, must be owing to some
unforeseen and extraordinary event. Our conjectures were
vague, tumultuous, and sometimes fearful. His sickness
and his death might possibly have detained him.

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Tortured with suspense, we sat gazing at each other, ari^d
at the path which led from the road. Every horseman that
passed was, for a moment, imagined to be him. Hour suc-
ceeded hour, and the sun, gradually declining, at length
disappeared. Every signal of his coming proved fallacious,
and our hopes were at length dismissed. His absence af-
fected my friends in no insupportable degree. They should
be obliged, they said, to defer this undertaking till the mor-
row; and perhaps their impatient curiosity would compel
them to dispense entirely with his presence. No doubt some
harmless occurrence had diverted him from his purpose ; and
they trusted that they should receive a satisfactory account
of him in the morning.

It may be supposed that this disappointment affected me
in a very different manner. I turned aside my head to con-
ceal my tears. I fled into solitude, to give vent to my re-
proaches without interruption or restraint. My heart was
ready to burst with indignation and grief. Pleyel was not
the only object of my keen but unjust upbraiding. Deeply
did I execrate my own folly. Thus fallen into ruins was
the gay fabric which I had reared ! Thus had my golden
vision melted into air!

How fondly did I dream that Pleyel was a lover ! If he
were, would he have suffered any obstacle to hinder his com-
ing? "Blind and infatuated man!" I exclaimed. "Thou
sportest with happiness. The good that is offered thee thou
hast the insolence and folly to refuse. Well, I will hence-
forth intrust my felicity to no one's keeping but my own."

The first agonies of this disappointment would not allow
me to be reasonable or just. Every ground on which I had
built the persuasion that Pleyel was not unimpressed in my
favor appeared to vanish. It seemed as if I had been misled
into this opinion by the most palpable illusions.

I made some trifling excuse, and returned, much earlier
than I expected, to my own house. I retired early to my
chamber, without designing to sleep. I placed myself at a
window, and gave the reins to reflection.

The hateful and degrading impulses which had lately con-

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

trolled me were, in some degree, removed. New dejection
succeeded, but was now produced by contemplating my late
behavior. Surely that passion is worthy to be abhorred
which obscures our understanding and urges us to the com-
mission of injustice. What right had I to expect his attend-
ance? Had I not demeaned myself like one indifferent to
his happiness, and as having bestowed my regards upon
another ? His absence might be prompted by the love which
I considered his absence as a proof that he wanted. He
came not because the sight of me, the spectacle of my cold-
ness or aversion, contributed to his despair. Why should
I prolong, by hypocrisy or silence, his misery as well as my
own? Why not deal with him explicitly, and assure him
of the truth?

You will hardly believe that, in obedience to this sug-
gestion, I rose for the purpose of ordering a light, that I
might instantly make this confession in a letter. A second
thought showed me the rashness of this scheme, and I won-
dered by what infirmity of mind I could be betrayed into
a momentary approbation of it. I saw with the utmost
clearness that a confession like that would be the most
remediless and unpardonable outrage upon the dignity of
my sex, and utterly unworthy of that passion which con-
trolled me.

I resumed my seat and my musing. To account for the
absence of Pleyel became once more the scope of my con-
jectures. How many incidents might occur to raise an in-
superable impediment in his way ! When I was a child, a
scheme of pleasure, in which he and his sister were parties,
had been in like manner frustrated by his absence; but his
absence, in that instance, had been occasioned by his falling
from a boat into the river, in consequence of which he had
run the most imminent hazard of being drowned. Here was
a second disappointment endured by the same persons, and
produced by his failure. Might it not originate in the same
cause? Had he not designed to cross the river that morn-
ing to make some necessary purchases in New Jersey? He
had preconcerted to return to his own house to dinner • but

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perhaps some disaster had befallen him. Experience had
taught me the insecurity of a canoe, and that was the only
kind of boat which Pleyel used ; I was, likewise, actuated
by an hereditary dread of water. These circumstances com-
bined to bestow considerable plausibility on this conjecture;
but the consternation with which I began to be seized was
allayed by reflecting that, if this disaster had happened, my
brother would have received the speediest information of it.
The consolation which this idea imparted was ravished from
me b)- a new thought. This disaster might have happened,
and his family not be apprised of it. The first intelligence
of his fate may be communicated by the livid corpse which
the tide may cast, many days hence, upon the shore.

Thus was I distressed by opposite conjectures ; thus was
I tormented by phantoms of my own creation. It was not
always thus. I can ascertain the date when my mind be-
came the victim of this imbecility ; perhaps it was coeval
with the inroad of a fatal passion, — a passion that will never
rank me in the number of its eulogists ; it was alone suffi-
cient to the extermination of my peace ; it was itself a plente-
ous source of calamity, and needed not the concurrence of
other evils to take away the attractions of existence and dig
for me an untimely grave.

The state of my mind naturally introduced a train of re-
flections upon the dangers and cares which inevitably beset
a human being. By no violent transition was I led to ponder
on the turbulent life and mysterious end of my father. I
cherished with the utmost veneration the memory of this
man, and every relic connected with his fate was preserved
with the most scrupulous care. Among these was to be
numbered a manuscript containing memoirs of his own
life. The narrative was by no means recommended by its
eloquence ; but neither did all its value flow from my relation-
ship to the author. Its style had an unaffected and pictur-
esque simplicity. The great variety and circumstantial dis-
play of the incidents, together with their intrinsic importance
as descriptive of human manners and passions, made it the
most useful book in my collection. It was late : but, being

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

sensible of no inclination to sleep, I resolved to betake my-
self to the perusal of it.

To do this, it was requisite to procure a light. The girl
had long since retired to her chamber : it was therefore
proper to wait upon myself. A lamp, and the means of
lighting it, were only to be found in the kitchen. Thither
I resolved forthwith to repair; but the light was of use
merely to enable me to read the book. I knew the shelf
and the spot where it stood. Whether I took down the book,
or prepared the lamp in the first place, appeared to be a
matter of no moment. The latter was preferred, and, leav-
ing my seat, I approached the closet in which, as I mentioned
formerly, my books and papers were deposited.

Suddenly the remembrance of what had lately passed in
this closet occurred. Whether midnight was approaching,
or had passed, I knew not. I was, as then, alone and de-
fenseless. The wind v/as in that direction in which, aided
by the deathlike repose of nature, it brought to me the mur-
mur of the waterfall. This was mingled with that solemn
and enchanting sound which a breeze produces among the
leaves of pines. The words of that mysterious dialogue,
their fearful import, and the wild excess to which I was
transported by my terrors, filled my imagination anew. My
steps faltered, and I stood a moment to recover myself.

I prevailed on myself at length to move toward the closet.
I touched the lock, but my fingers were powerless ; I was
visited afresh by unconquerable apprehensions. A sort of
belief darted into my mind that some being was concealed
within whose purposes were evil. I began to contend with
those fears, when it occurred to me that I might, without
impropriety, go for a lamp previously to opening the closet.
I receded a few steps ; but before I reached the chamber
door my thoughts took a new direction. Motion seemed to
produce a mechanical influence upon me. I was ashamed of
my weakness. Besides, what aid could be afforded me by a
lamp?

My fears had pictured to themselves no precise object. It
would be difficult to depict in words the ingredients and

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hues of that phantom which haunted me. A hand invisible
and of preternatural strength, lifted by human passions, and
selecting my life for its aim, were parts of this terrific image.
All places were alike accessible to this foe ; or, if his empire
were restricted by local bounds, those bounds were utterly
inscrutable by me. But had I not been told, by some one
in league with this enemy, that every place but the recess in
the bank was exempt from danger ?

I returned, to the closet, and once more put my hand upon
the lock. Oh, may my ears lose their sensibility ere they
be again assailed by a shriek so terrible ! Not merely my
understanding was subdued by the sound ; it acted on my
nerves like an edge of steel. It appeared to cut asunder the
fibers of my brain and rack every joint with agony.

The cry, loud and piercing as it was, was nevertheless hu-
man. No articulation was ever more distinct. The breath
which accompanied it did not fan my hair, yet did every
circumstance combine to persuade me that the lips which
uttered it touched my very shoulder.

" Hold ! hold ! " were the words of this tremendous pro-
hibition, in whose tone the whole soul seemed to be wrapped
up, and every energy converted into eagerness and terror.

Shuddering, I dashed myself against the wall, and, by the
same involuntary impulse, turned my face backward to ex-
amine the mysterious monitor. The moonlight streamed
into each window, and every corner of the room was con-
spicuous, and yet I beheld nothing!

The interval was too brief to be artificially measured, be-
tween the utterance of these words and my scrutiny directed
to the quarter whence they came. Yet, if a human being
had been there, could he fail to have been visible? Which
of my senses was the prey of a fatal illusion? The shock
which the sound produced was still felt in every part of my
frame. The sound, therefore, could not but be a genuine
commotion. But that I had heard it was not more true
than that the being who uttered it was stationed at my right
ear ; yet my attendant was invisible.

I cannot describe the state of my thoughts at that mo-

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Charles Brockden Brown

ment. Surprise had mastered my faculties. My frame
shook, and the vital current was congealed. I was conscious
only of the vehemence of my sensations. This condition
could not be lasting. Like a tide, which suddenly mounts
to an overwhelming height and then gradually subsides, my
confusion slowly gave place to order, and my tumults to a
calm. I was able to deliberate and move. I resumed my
feet, and advanced into the midst of the room. Upward,
and behind, and on each side, I threw penetrating glances.
I was not satisfied with one examination. He that hitherto
refused to be seen might change his purpose, and on the
next survey be clearly distinguishable.

Solitude imposes least restraint upon the fancy. Dark is
less fertile of images than the feeble luster of the moon. I
was alone, and the walls were checkered by shadowy forms.
As the moon passed behind a cloud and emerged, these
shadows seemed to be endowed with life, and to move. The
apartment was open to the breeze, and the curtain was occa-
sionally blown from its ordinary position. This motion was
not unaccompanied with sound. I failed not to snatch a look
and to listen when this motion and this sound occurred.
My belief that my monitor was posted near was strong, and
instantly converted these appearances to tokens of his pres-
ence ; and yet I could discern nothing.

When my thoughts were at length permitted to revert to
the past, the first idea that occurred was the resemblance
between the words of the voice which I had just heard and
those which had terminated my dream in the summer-house.
There are means by which we are able to distinguish a sub-
stance from a shadow, a reality from the phantom of a
dream. The pit, my brother beckoning me forward, the
seizure of my arm, and tiie voice behind, were surely imag-
inary. That these incidents were fashioned in my sleep is
supported by the same indubitable evidence that compels me
to believe myself awake at present ; yet the words and the
voice were the same. Then, by some inexplicable contriv-
ance, I was aware of the danger, while my actions and
sensations were those of one wholly unacquainted with it.

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Now, was it not equally true that my actions and persuasions
were at war? Had not the belief that evil lurked in the
closet gained admittance, and had not my actions betokened
an unwarrantable security? To obviate the effects of my
infatuation, the same means had been used.

In my dream, he that tempted me to my destruction was
mv brother. Death was ambushed in my path. From what
evil was I now rescued? What minister or implement of
ill was shut up in this recess ? Who was it whose suffocating
grasp I was to feel should I dare to enter it? What mon-
strous conception is this? My brother?

No; protection, and not injury, is his province. Strange
and terrible chimera! Yet it would not be suddenly dis-
missed. It was surely no vulgar agency that gave this form
to my fears. He to whom all parts of time are equally pres-
ent, whom no contingency approaches, was the author of
that spell which now seized upon me. Life was dear to me.
No consideration was present that enjoined me to relinquish
it. Sacred duty combined with every spontaneous sentiment
to endear to me my being. Should I not shudder when my
being was endangered? But what emotion should possess
me when the arm lifted against me was Wieland's?

Ideas exist in our minds that can be accounted for by no
established laws. Why did I dream that my brother was
my foe? Why but because an omen of my fate was or-
dained to be communicated? Yet what salutary end did
it serve ? Did it arm me with caution to elude or fortitude
to bear the evils to which I was reserved? My present
thoughts were, no doubt, indebted for their hue to the simili-
tude existing between these incidents and those of my dream.
Surely it was frenzy that dictated my deed. That a ruffian
was hidden in the closet was an idea the genuine tendency
of which was to urge me to flight. Such had been the effect
formerly produced. Had my mind been simply occupied
with this thought at present, no doubt the same impulse
would have been experienced ; but now it was my brother
whom I was irresistibly persuaded to regard as the con-
triver of that ill of which I had been forewarned. This

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

persuasion did not extenuate my fears or my danger. Why
then did I again approach the closet and withdraw the bolt ?
My resolution was instantly conceived, and executed without
faltering.

The door was formed of light materials. The lock, of
simple structure, easily forewent its hold. It opened into
the room, and commonly moved upon its hinges, after being
unfastened, without any effort of mine. This effort, how-
ever, was bestowed upon the present occasion. It was my
purpose to open it with quickness; but the exertion which
I made was ineffectual. It refused to open.

At another time, this circumstance would not have looked
with a face of mystery, I should have supposed some casual
obstruction and repeated my efforts to surmount it. But
now my mind was accessible to no conjecture but one. The
door was hindered from opening by human force. Surely,
here was a new cause for affright. This was confirmation
proper to decide my conduct. Now was all ground of hesi-
tation taken away. What could be supposed but that I de-
serted the chamber and the house ? that I at least endeavored
no longer to withdraw the door?

Have I not said that my actions were dictated by frenzy ?
My reason had forborne, for a time, to suggest or to sway
my resolves. I reiterated my endeavors. I exerted all my
force to overcome the obstacle, but in vain. The strength
that was exerted to keep it shut was superior to mine.

A casual observer might, perhaps, applaud the audacious-
ness of this conduct. Whence, but from a habitual defiance
of danger, could rny perseverance arise? I have already
assigned, as distinctly as I am able, the cause of it. The
frantic conception that my brother was within, that the re-
sistance made to my design was exerted by him, had rooted
itself in my mind. You will comprehend the height of this
infatuation, when I tell you that, finding all my exertions
vain, I betook myself to exclamations. Surely I was ut-
terly bereft of understanding.

Now I had arrived at the crisis of my fate. " Oh, hinder
not the door to open," I exclaimed, in a tone that had less

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of fear than of grief in it. " I know you well. Come forth,
but hami me not. I beseech you, come forth."

I had taken my hand from the lock and removed to a
small distance from the door. I had scarcely uttered these
words, when the door swung upon its hinges and displayed
to my view the interior of the closet. Whoever was within
was shrouded in darkness. A few seconds passed without
interruption of the silence. I knew not what to expect or
to fear. My eyes would not stray from the recess. Pres-
ently, a deep sigh was heard. The quarter from which it
came heightened the eagerness of my gaze. Some one ap-
proached from the farther end. I quickly perceived the out-
lines of a human figure. Its steps were irresolute and slow.
I recoiled as it advanced.

By coming at length within the verge of the room, his
form was clearly distinguishable. I had prefigured to my-
self a very different personage. The face that presented
itself was the last that I should desire to meet at an hour
and in a place Hke this. My wonder was stifled by my fears.
Assassins had lurked in this recess. Some divine voice
warned me of danger that at this moment awaited me. I
had spurned the intimation, and challenged my adversary.

I recalled the mysterious countenance and dubious char-
acter of Carwin. What motive but atrocious ones could
guide his steps hither? I was alone. My habit suited the
hour, and the place, and the warmth of the season. All
succor was remote. He had placed himself between me and
the door. My frame shook with the vehemence of my ap-
prehensions.

Yet I was not wholly lost to myself; I vigilantly marked
his demeanor. His looks were grave, but not without per-
turbation. What species of inquietude it betrayed the light
was not strong enough to enable me to discover. He stood
still; but his eyes wandered from one object to another.
When these powerful organs were fixed upon me, I shrunk
into myself. At length he broke silence. Earnestness, and
not embarrassment, was in his tone. He advanced close to
me while he spoke: —

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Charles Brockdcn Brotvn

" What voice was that which lately addressed you ? "

He paused for an answer; but, observing my trepidation,
he resumed, with undiminished solemnity, " Be not terrified.
Whoever he was, he has done you an important service. I
need not ask you if it were the voice of a companion. That
sound was beyond the compass of human organs. The
knowledge that enabled him to tell you who was in the
closet was obtained by incomprehensible means.

" You knew that Carwin was there. Were you not ap-
prised of his intents ? The same power CQuld impart the one
as well as the other. Yet, knowing these, you persisted.
Audacious girl ! But perhaps you confided in his guardian-
ship. Your confidence was just. With succor like this at
hand you may safely defy me.

" He is my eternal foe ; the baffler of my best-concerted
schemes. Twice have you been saved by his accursed in-
terposition. But for him I should long ere now have borne
away the spoils of your honor."

He looked at me with greater steadfastness than before.
I became every moment more anxious for my safety. It
was with difficulty I stammered out an entreaty that he
would instantly depart, or suffer me to do so. He paid no-
regard to my request, but proceeded in a more impassioned
manner : —

" What is it you fear ? Have I not told you you are safe ?
Has not one in whom you more reasonably place trust as-
sured you of it? Even if I execute my purpose, what injury
is done? Your prejudices will call it by that name, but it
merits it not.

" I was impelled by a sentiment that does you honor ; a
sentiment that would sanctify my deed ; but, whatever it be,
you are safe. Be this chimera still worshiped ; I will do
nothing to pollute it." There he stopped.

The accents and gestures of this man left me drained of
all courage. Surely, on no other occasion should I have
been thus pusillanimous. My state I regarded as a hopeless
one. I was wholly at the mercy of this being. Whichever
way I turned my eyes, I saw no avenue by which I might

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escape. The resources of my personal strength, my in-
genuity, and my eloquence, I estimated at nothing. The
dignity of virtue and the force of truth I had been accus-
tomed to celebrate, and had frequently vaunted of the con-
quests which I should make with their assistance.

I used to suppose that certain evils could never befall a
being in possession of a sound mind ; that true virtue sup-
plies us with energy which vice can never resist ; that it was
always in our power to obstruct, by his own death, the de-
signs of an enemy who aimed at less than our life. How
was it that a sentiment like despair had now invaded me,
and that I trusted to the protection of chance, or to the pity
of my persecutor ?

His words imparted some notion of the injury which he
had meditated. He talked of obstacles that had risen in his
way. He had relinquished his design. These sources sup-
plied me with slender consolation. There was no security
but in his absence. When I looked at myself, when I re-
flected on the hour and the place, I was overpowered by
horror and dejection.

He was silent, museful, and inattentive to my situation,
yet made no motion to depart. I was silent in my turn.
What could I say ? I was confident that reason in this con-
test would be impotent. I must owe my safety to his own
suggestions. Whatever purpose brought him hither, he had
changed it. Why then did he remain? His resolutions
might fluctuate, and the pause of a few minutes restore to
him his first resolutions.

Yet was not this the man whom we had treated with un-
wearied kindness ? whose society was endeared to us by his
intellectual elevation and accomplishments ? who had a thou-
sand times expatiated on the usefulness and beauty of vir-
tue? Why should such a one be dreaded ? If I could have
forgotten the circumstances in which our interview had
taken place, I might have treated his words as jests. Pres-
ently, he resumed: —

" Fear me not: the space that severs us is small, and all
visib'e succor is distant. You believe yourself completely in

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my power ; that you stand upon the brink of ruin. Such are
your groundless fears. I cannot hft a finger to hurt you.
Easier would it be to stop the moon in her course than to
injure you. The power that protects you would crumble
my sinews and reduce me to a heap of ashes in a moment,
if I were to harbor a thought hostile to your safety.

" Thus are appearances at length solved. Little did I ex-
pect that they originated hence. What a portion is assigned
to you ! Scanned by the eyes of this intelligence, your path
will be without pits to swallow or snares to entangle you.
Environed by the arms of this protection, all artifices will
be frustrated and all malice repelled."

Here succeeded a new pause. I was still observant of
every gesture and look. The tranquil solemnity that had
lately possessed his countenance gave way to a new expres-
sion. All now was trepidation and anxiety.

" I must be gone," said he, in a faltering accent. " Why
do I linger here? I will not ask your forgiveness. I see
that your terrors are invincible. Your pardon will be ex-
torted by fear, and not dictated by compassion. I must fly
from you forever. He that could plot against your honor
must expect from you and your friends persecution and
death. I must doom myself to endless exile."

Saying this, he hastily left the room. I listened while
he descended the stairs, and, unbolting the outer door,
went forth. I did not follow him with my eyes, as the moon-
light would have enabled me to do. Relieved by his ab-
sence, and exhausted by the conflict of my fears, I threw
myself on a chair, and resigned myself to those bewildering
ideas which incidents like these could not fail to produce.

V

Order could not readily be introduced into my thoughts.
The voice still rung in my ears. Every accent that was
uttered by Carwin was fresh in my remembrance. His un-
welcome approach, the recognition of his person, his hasty

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departure, produced a complex impression on my mind
which no words can delineate. I strove to give a slower
motion to my thoughts, and to regulate a confusion which
became painful; but my efiforts were nugatory. I covered
my eyes with my hand, and sat, I know not how long, with-
out power to arrange or utter my conceptions,

I had remained for hours, as I believed, in absolute soli-
tude. No thought of personal danger had miolested my
tranquillity. I had made no preparation for defense. What
was it that suggested the design of perusing my father's
manuscript? If, instead of this, I had retired to bed and
to sleep, to what fate might I not have been reserved. The
ruffian, who must almost have suppressed his breathings
to screen himself from discovery, would have noticed this
signal, and I should have awakened only to perish with
affright, and to abhor myself. Could I have remained un-
conscious of my danger? Could I have tranquilly slept in
the midst of so deadly a snare?

And who was he that threatened to destroy me? By
what means could he hide himself in this closet? Surely
he is gifted with supernatural power. Such is the enemy
of whose attempts I was forewarned. Daily I had seen
him and conversed with him. Nothing could be discerned
through the impenetrable veil of his duplicity. When busied
in conjectures as to the author of the evil that was threat-
ened, my mind did not light for a moment upon his image.
Yet has he not avowed himself my enemy ? Why should he
be here if he had not meditated evil?

He confesses that this has been his second attempt.
What was the scene of his former conspiracy? Was it
not he whose whispers betrayed him? Am I deceived?
or was there not a faint resemblance between the voice
of this man and that which talked of grasping my throat
and extinguishing my life in a moment? Then he had
a colleague in his crime; now he is alone. Then death
was the scope of his thoughts ; now an injury unspeakably
more dreadful. How thankful should I be to the power
that has interposed to save me !

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

That power is invisible. It is subject to the cognizance
of one of my senses. What are the means that will inform
me of what nature it is ? He has set himself to counter-
work the machinations of this man, who had menaced de-
struction to all that is dear to me, and whose coming had
surmounted every human impediment. There was none to
rescue me from his grasp. My rashness even hastened the
completion of his scheme, and precluded him from the bene-
fits of deliberation. I had robbed him of the power to
repent and forbear. Had I been apprised of the danger, I
should have regarded my conduct as the means of render-
ing my escape from it impossible. Such, likewise, seem to
have been the fears of my invisible protector. Else why
that startling entreaty to refrain from opening the closet?
By what inexplicable infatuation was I compelled to pro-
ceed?

" Surely," said I, " there is omnipotence in the cause that
changed the views of a man like Carwin. The divinity that
shielded me from his attempts will take suitable care of
my future safety. Thus to yield to my fears is to deserve
that they should be real."

Scarcely had I uttered these words, when my attention
was startled by the sound of footsteps. They denoted
some one stepping into the piazza in front of my house.
My new-born confidence was extinguished in a moment.
Carwin, I thought, had repented his departure, and was
hastily returning. The possibility that his return was
prompted by intentions consistent with my safety found
no place in my mind. Images of violation and murder
assailed me anew, and the terrors which succeeded almost
incapacitated me from taking any measures for my defense.
It was an impulse of which I was scarcely conscious that
made me fasten the lock and draw the bolts of my cham-
ber door. Having done this, I threw myself on a seat;
for I trembled to a degree which disabled me from stand-
ing, and my soul was so perfectly absorbed in the act of
listening, that almost the vital motions were stopped.

The door below creaked on its hinges. It was not again

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thrust to, but appeared to remain open. Footsteps entered,
traversed the entry, and began to mount the stairs. How
I detested the folly of not pursuing the man when he with-
drew, and bolting after him the outer door! Might he not
conceive this omission to be a proof that my angel had de-
serted me, and be thereby fortified in guilt?

Every step on the stairs which brought him nearer to
my chamber added vigor to my desperation. The evil
with which I was menaced was to be at any rate eluded.
How little did I preconceive the conduct which, in an
exigence like this, I should be prone to adopt! You will
suppose that deliberation and despair would have sug-
gested the same course of action, and that I should have
unhesitatingly resorted to the best means of personal de-
fense within my power. A penknife lay open upon my
table. I remembered that it was there, and seized it. For
what purpose you will scarcely inquire. It will be imme-
diately supposed that I meant it for my last refuge, and
that, if all other means should fail, I should plunge it into
the heart of my ravisher.

I have lost all faith in the steadfastness of human resolves.
It was thus that in periods of calm I had determined to
act. No cowardice had been held by me in greater abhor-
rence than that which prompted an injured female to de-
stroy, not her injurer ere the injury was perpetrated, but
herself when it was without remedy. Yet now this pen-
knife appeared to me of no other use than to baffle my
assailant and prevent the crime by destroying myself. To
deliberate at such a time was impossible; but, among the
tumultuous suggestions of the moment, I do not recollect
that it once occurred to me to use it as an instrument of
direct defense.

The steps had now reached the second floor. Every foot-
fall accelerated the completion without augmenting the cer-
tainty of evil. The consciousness that the door was fast,
now that nothing but that was interposed between me and
danger, was a source of some consolation. I cast my eye
toward the window. This, likewise, was a new suggestion.

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

If the door should give way, it was my sudden resolution
to throw myself from the window. Its height from the
ground, which was covered beneath by a brick pavement,
would insure my destruction; but I thought not of that.

When opposite to my door the footsteps ceased. Was
he listening whether my fears were allayed and my caution
were asleep ? Did he hope to take me by surprise ? Yet,
if so, why did he allow so many noisy signals to betray
his approach? Presently the steps were again heard to
approach the door. A hand was laid upon the lock, and
the latch pulled back. Did he imagine it possible that I
should fail to secure the door? A slight effort was made
to push it open, as if, all bolts being withdrawn, a slight
effort only was required,

I no sooner perceived this than I moved swiftly toward
the window. Carwin's frame might be said to be all
muscle. His strength and activity had appeared, in vari-
ous instances, to be prodigious. A slight exertion of his
force would demolish the door. Would not that exertion
be made? Too surely it would; but, at the same moment
that this obstacle should yield and he should enter the
apartment, my determination was formed to leap from the
window. My senses were still bound to this object. I
gazed at the door in momentary expectation that the as-
sault would be made. The pause continued. The person
without was irresolute and motionless.

Suddenly it occurred to me that Carwin might conceive
me to have fled. That I had not betaken myself to flight
was, indeed, the least probable of all conclusions. In this
persuasion he must have been confirmed on finding the
lower door unfastened and the chamber door locked. Was
it not wise to foster this persuasion? Should I maintain
deep silence, this, in addition to other circumstances, might
encourage the belief, and he would once more depart.
Every new reflection added plausibility to this reasoning.
It was presently more strongly enforced when I noticed
footsteps withdrawing from the door. The blood once more
flowed back to my heart, and a dawn of exultation began

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to rise; but my joy was short-lived. Instead of descending
the stairs, he passed to the door of the opposite chamber,
opened it, and, having entered, shut it after him with a vio-
lence that shook the house.

How was I to interpret this circumstance? For what
end could he have entered this chamber? Did the vio-
lence with which he closed the door testify the depth of
his vexation? This room was usually occupied by Pleyel.
Was Carwin aware of his absence on this night? Could
he be suspected of a design so sordid as pillage? If this
were his view, there were no means in my power to frus-
trate it. It behooved me to seize the first opportunity to
escape ; but, if my escape were supposed by my enemy to
have been already effected, no asylum was more secure
than the present. How could my passage from the house
be accomplished without noises that might incite him to
pursue me?

Utterly at a loss to account for his going into Pleyel's
chamber, I waited in instant expectation of hearing him
come forth. All, however, was profoundly still. I listened
in vain for a considerable period to catch the sound of the
door when it should again be opened. There was no other
avenue by which he could escape, but a door which led into
the girl's chamber. Would any evil from this quarter befall
the girl?

Hence arose a new train of apprehensions. They merely
added to the turbulence and agony of my reflections.
Whatever evil impended over her, I had no power to avert
it. Seclusion and silence were the only means of saving
myself from the perils of this fatal night. What solemn
vows did I put up, that, if I should once more behold the
light of day, I would never trust myself again within the
threshold of this dwelling!

Minute lingered after minute, but no token was given
that Carwin had returned to the passage. What, I again
asked, could detain him in this room? W^as it possible that
he had returned, and glided unperceived away? I was
speedily aware of the difficulty that attended an enterprise

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Charles Brockdt^n Brown

like this; and yet, as if by that means I were capable of
gaining any information on that head, I cast anxious looks
from the window.

The object that first attracted my attention was a human
figure standing on the edge of the bank. Perhaps my
penetration was assisted by my hopes. Be that as it will,
the figure of Carwin was clearly distinguishable. From the
obscurity of my station, it was impossible that I should be
discerned by him; and yet he scarcely suffered me to catch
a glimpse of him. He turned and went down the steep,
which in this part was not difficult to be scaled.

My conjecture, then, had been right. Carwin has softly
opened the door, descended the stairs, and issued forth.
That I should not have overheard his steps was only less
incredible than that my eyes had deceived me. But what
was now to be done? The house was at length delivered
from this detested inmate. By one avenue might he again
reenter. Was it not wise to bar the lower door? Perhaps
he had gone out by the kitchen door. For this end, he must
have passed through Judith's chamber. These entrances
being closed and bolted, as great security was gained as
was compatible with my lonely condition.

The propriety of these measures was too manifest not
to make me struggle successfully with my fears. Yet I
opened my own door with the utmost caution, and de-
scended as if I v/ere afraid that Carwin had been still im-
mured in Pleyel's chamber. The outer door was ajar. I
shut it with trembling eagerness, and drew every bolt
that appended to it. I then passed with light and less
cautious steps through the parlor, but was surprised to
discover that the kitchen door was secure. I was com-
pelled to acquiesce in the first conjecture that Carwin had
escaped through the entry.

My heart was now somewhat eased of the load of ap-
prehension. I returned once more to my chamber, the
door of which I was careful to lock. It was no time to
think of repose. The moonlight began already to fade
before the light of the day. The approach of morning was

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betokened by the usual signals. I mused upon the events
of this night, and determined to take up my abode hence-
forth at my brother's. Whether I should inform him of
what had happened was a question which seemed to de-
mand some consideration. My safety unquestionably re-
quired that I should abandon my present habitation.

As my thoughts began to flow with fewer impediments,
the image of Pleyel, and the dubiousness of his condition,
again recurred to me. I again ran over the possible causes
of his absence on the preceding day. My mind was attuned
to melancholy. I dwelt, with an obstinacy for which I could
not account, on the idea of his death. I painted to myself
his struggles with the billows, and his last appearance. I
imagined myself a midnight wanderer on the shore, and to
have stumbled on his corpse, which the tide had cast up.
These dreary images affected me even to tears. I endeav-
ored not to restrain them. They imparted a relief which I
had not anticipated. The more copiously they flowed, the
more did my general sensations appear to subside into calm,
and a certain restlessness give way to repose.

Perhaps, relieved by this effusion, the slumber so much
wanted might have stolen on my senses, had there been no
new cause of alarm.

VI

I WAS aroused from this stupor by sounds that evidently
arose in the next chamber. Was it possible that I had been
mistaken in the figure which I had seen on the bank? or
had Carwin, by some inscrutable means, penetrated once
more into this chamber? The opposite door opened; foot-
steps came forth, and the person, advancing to mine,
knocked.

So unexpected an incident robbed me of all presence
of mind, and, starting up, I involuntarily exclaimed, " Who
is there?" An answer was immediately given. The voice,
to my inexpressible astonishment, was Pleyel's.

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

" It is I. Have you risen ? If you have not, make haste;
I want three minutes' conversation with you in the parlor.
I will wait for you there." Saying this, he retired from the
door.

Should I confide in the testimony of my ears? If that
were true, it was Pleyel that had been hitherto immured
in the opposite chamber; he whom my rueful fancy had
depicted in so many ruinous and ghastly shapes; he whose
footsteps had been listened to with such inquietude! What
is man, that knowledge is so sparingly conferred upon him!
that his heart should be wrung with distress, and his frame
be exanimated with fear, though his safety be encompassed
with impregnable walls! What are the bounds of human
imbecility! He that warned me of the presence of my foe
refused the intimation by which so many racking fears
would have been precluded.

Yet who would have imagined the arrival of Pleyel at
such an hour? His tone was desponding and anxious.
Why this unseasonable summons ? and why this hasty de-
parture? Some tidings he, perhaps, bears of mysterious
and unwelcome import.

My impatience would not allow me to consume much
time in deliberation; I hastened down. Pleyel I found
standing at a window, with eyes cast down as in medi-
tation, and arms folded on his breast. Every line in his
countenance was pregnant with sorrow. To this was added
a certain wanness and air of fatigue. The last time I had
seen him appearances had been the reverse of these. I
was startled at the change. The first impulse was to ques-
tion him as to the cause. This impulse was supplanted
by some degree of confusion, flowing from a consciousness
that love had too large, and, as it might prove, a percepti-
ble, share in creating this impulse. I was silent.

Presently he raised his eyes and fixed them upon me.
I read in them an anguish altogether ineffable. Never had
I witnessed a like demeanor in Pleyel. Never, indeed, had
I observed a human countenance in which grief was more
legibly inscribed. He seemed struggling for utterance ; but,

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his struggles being fruitless, he shook his head and turned
away from me.

My impatience would not allow me to be longer silent.
" What," said I, " for heaven's sake, my friend, — what is
the matter?"

He started at the sound of my voice. His looks, for a
moment, became convulsed with an emotion very different
from grief. His accents were broken with rage : —

"The matter! O wretch! — thus exquisitely fashioned, —
on whom nature seemed to have exhausted all her graces ;
with charms so awful and so pure! how art thou fallen!
From what height fallen! A ruin so complete, — so un-
heard of! "

His words were again choked by emotion. Grief and
pity were again mingled in his features. He resumed, in
a tone half suffocated by sobs: —

" But why should I upbraid thee ? Could I restore to thee
what thou hast lost, efface this cursed stain, snatch thee
from the jaws of this fiend, I would do it. Yet what will
avail my efforts? I have not arms with which to contend
with so consummate, so frightful a depravity.

" Evidence less than this would only have excited resent-
ment and scorn. The wretch who should have breathed a
suspicion injurious to thy honor would have been regarded
without anger: not hatred or envy could have prompted
him; it would merely be an argument of madness. That
my eyes, that my ears, should bear witness to thy fall! By
no other way could detestable conviction be imparted.

"Why do I summon thee to this conference? Why ex-
pose myself to thy derision? Here admonition and en-
treaty are vain. Thou knowest him already for a murderer
and thief. I thought to have been the first to disclose to
thee his infamy; to have warned thee of the pit to which
thou art hastening; but thy eyes are open in vain. Oh, foul
and insupportable disgrace!

" There is but one path. I know you will disappear to-
gether. In thy ruin, how will the felicity and honor of
multitudes be involved! But it must come. This scene

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Charles Brockden Brown

shall not be blotted by his presence. No doubt thou wilt
shortly see thy detested paramour. This scene will be again
polluted by a midnight assignation. Inform him of his
dangers; tell him that his crimes are known; let him fly
far and instantly from this spot, if he desires to avoid the
fate which menaced him in Ireland.

" And wilt thou not stay behind? But shame upon my
weakness! I know not what I would say. I have donq
what I purposed. To stay longer, to expostulate, to be-
seech, to enumerate the consequences of thy act, — what
end can it serve but to blazon thy infamy and embitter our
woes? And yet, oh, think — think ere it be too late — on the
distresses which thy flight will entail upon us ; on the
base, groveling, and atrocious character of the wretch to
whom thou hast sold thy honor. But what is this? Is
not thy effrontery impenetrable and thy heart thoroughly
cankered? Oh, most specious and most profligate of
women ! "

Saying this, he rushed out of the house. I saw him in
a few moments hurrying along the path which led to my
brother's. I had no power to prevent his going, or to
recall or to follow him. The accents I had heard were cal-
culated to confound and bewilder. I looked around me,
to assure myself that the scene was real. I moved, that I
might banish the doubt that I was awake. Such enormous
imputations from the mouth of Pleyel! To be stigmatized
with the names of wanton and profligate! To be charged
with the sacrifice of honor! with midnight meetings with a
wretch known to be a murderer and thief! with an intention
to fly in his company!

What I had heard was surely the dictate of frenzy, or it
was built upon some fatal, some incomprehensible mistake.
After the horrors of the night, after undergoing perils so
imminent from this man, to be summoned to an interview
like this! — to find Pleyel fraught with a belief that, instead
of having chosen death as a refuge from the violence of
this man, I had hugged his baseness to my heart, had sac-
rificed for him my purity, my spotless name, my friendships,

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and my fortune! That even madness could engender accu-
sations like these was not to be believed.

What evidence could possibly suggest conceptions so
wild? After the unlooked-for interview with Carwin in
my chamber, he retired. Could Pleyel have observed his
exit? It was not long after that Pleyel himself entered.
Did he build on this incident his odious conclusions? Could
the long series of my actions and sentiments grant me no
exemption from suspicions so foul? Was it not more ra-
tional to infer that Carwin's designs had been illicit? that
my life had been endangered by the fury of one whom, by
some means, he had discovered to be an assassin and rob-
ber? that my honor had been assailed, not by blandishments,
but by violence?

He has judged me without hearing. He has drawn from
dubious appearances conclusions the most improbable and
unjust. He has loaded me with all outrageous epithets.
He has ranked me with prostitutes and thieves. I cannot
pardon thee, Pleyel, for this injustice. Thy understanding
must be hurt. If it be not, — if thy conduct was sober and
deliberate, — I can never forgive an outrage so unmanly and
so gross.

These thoughts gradually gave place to others. Pleyel
was possessed by some momentary frenzy; appearances had
led him into palpable errors. Whence could his sagacity
have contracted this blindness? Was it not love? Pre-
viously assured of my affection for Carwin, distracted with
grief and jealousy, and impelled hither at that late hour by
some unknown instigation, his imagination transformed
shadows into monsters, and plunged him into these deplor-
able errors.

This idea was not unattended with consolation. My
soul was divided between indignation at his injustice and
delight on account of the source from which I conceived
it to spring. For a long time they would allow admis-
sion to no other thoughts. Surprise is an emotion that
enfeebles, not invigorates. All my meditations were ac-
companied with wonder. I rambled with vagueness, or

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

clung to one image with an obstinacy which sufficiently
testified the maddening influence of late transactions.

Gradually I proceeded to reflect upon the consequences
of Pleyel's mistake, and on the measures I should take
to guard myself against future injury from Carwin. Should
I suffer this mistake to be detected by time? When his
passion should subside, would he not perceive the flagrancy
of his injustice and hasten to atone for it? Did it not be-
come my character to testify resentment for language and
treatment so opprobrious? Wrapped up in the conscious-
ness of innocence, and confiding in the influence of time and
reflection to confute so groundless a charge, it was my
province to be passive and silent.

As to the violences meditated by Carwin, and the means
of eluding them, the path to be taken by me was obvious.
I resolved to tell the tale to my brother and regulate myself
by his advice. For this end, when the morning was some-
what advanced, I took the way to his house. My sister was
engaged in her customary occupations. As soon as I ap-
peared, she remarked a change in my looks. I was not
willing to alarm her by the information which I had to com-
municate. Her health was in that condition which rendered
a disastrous tale particularly unsuitable. I forbore a direct
answer to her inquiries, and inquired, in my turn, for Wie-
land.

'* Why," said she, " I suspect something mysterious and
unpleasant has happened this morning. Scarcely had we
risen when Pleyel dropped among us. What could have
prompted him to make us so early and so unseasonable a
visit I cannot tell. To judge from the disorder of his dress,
and his countenance, something of an extraordinary nature
has occurred. He permitted me merely to know that he
had slept none, nor even undressed, during the past night.
He took your brother to walk with him. Some topic must
have deeply engaged them, for Wieland did not return
till the breakfast hour was passed, and returned alone. His
disturbance was excessive; but he would not listen to my
importunities, or tell me what had happened. I gathered,

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from hints which he let fall, that your situation was in some
way the cause; yet he assured me that you were at your
own house, alive, in good health, and in perfect safety. He
scarcely ate a morsel, and immediately after breakfast went
out again. He would not inform me whither he was going,
but mentioned that he probably might not return before
night."

I was equally astonished and alarmed by this informa-
tion. Pleyel had told his tale to my brother, and had,
'by a plausible and exaggerated picture, instilled into him
unfavorable thoughts of me. Yet would not the more cor-
rect judgment of Wieland perceive and expose the fallacy
of his conclusions? Perhaps his uneasiness might arise
from some insight into the character of Carwin, and from
apprehensions for my safety. The appearances by which
Pleyel had been misled might induce him likewise to believe
that I entertained an indiscreet though not dishonorable
affection for Carwin. Such were the conjectures rapidly
formed. I was inexpressibly anxious to change them into
certainty. For this end an interview with my brother was
desirable. He was gone no one knew whither, and was not
expected speedily to return. I had no clew by which to
trace his footsteps.

My anxieties could not be concealed from my sister.
They heightened her solicitude to be acquainted with the
cause. There were many reasons persuading me to silence;
at least, till I had seen my brother, it would be an act of
inexcusable temerity to unfold what had lately passed. No
other expedient for eluding her importunities occurred to
me but that of returning to my own house. I recollected
my determination to become a tenant of this roof. I men-
tioned it to her. She joyfully acceded to this proposal,
and suffered me with less reluctance to depart when I told
her that it was with a view to collect and send to my new
dwelling what articles would be immediately useful to me.

Once more I returned to the house which had been the
scene of so much turbulence and danger. I was at no great
distance from it when I observed my brother coming out.

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On seeing me he stopped, and, after ascertaining, as it
seemed, which way I was going, he returned into the house
before me. I sincerely rejoiced at this event, and I hastened
to set things, if possible, on their right footing.

His brow was by no means expressive of those vehement
emotions with which Pleyel had been agitated. I drew a
favorable omen from this circumstance. Without delay I
began the conversation.

" I have been to look for you," said I, " but was told
by Catharine that Pleyel had engaged you on some im-
portant and disagreeable aflfair. Before his interview with
you he spent a few minutes with me. These minutes he
employed in upbraiding me for crimes and intentions with
which I am by no means chargeable. I believe him to have
taken up his opinions on very insufficient grounds. His
behavior was in the highest degree precipitate and unjust,
and, until I receive some atonement, I shall treat him, in
my turn, with that contempt which he justly merits; mean-
while, I am fearful that he has prejudiced my brother
against me. That is an evil which I most anxiously depre-
cate, and which I shall indeed exert myself to remove. Has
he made me the subject of this morning's conversation?"

My brother's countenance testified no surprise at my
address. The benignity of his looks was nowise diminished.

" It is true," said he, " your conduct was the subject of
our discourse. I am your friend as well as your brother.
There is no human being whom I love with more tender-
ness and whose welfare is nearer my heart. Judge, then,
with what emotions I listened to Pleyel's story. I expect
and desire you to vindicate yourself from aspersions so
foul, if vindication be possible."

The tone with which he uttered the last words affected
me deeply. "If vindication be possible!" repeated I.
" From what you know, do you deem a formal vindication
necessary? Can you harbor for a moment the belief of
my guilt? "

He shook his head with an air of acute anguish. " I have
struggled," said he, " to dismiss that belief. You speak be-

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fore a judge who will profit by any pretense to acquit you ;
who is ready to question his own senses when they plead
against you."

These words incited a new set of thoughts in my mind.
I began to suspect that Pleyel had built his accusations
on some foundation unknown to me. '' 1 may be a stranger
to the grounds of your belief. Pleyel loaded me with in-
decent and virulent invectives, but he withheld from me
the facts that generated his suspicions. Events took place
last night of which some of the circumstances were of an
ambiguous nature. I conceived that these might possibly
have fallen under his cognizance, and that, viewed through
the mists of prejudice and passion, they supplied a pretense
for his conduct, but believed that your more unbiased
judgment would estimate them at their just value. Per-
haps his tale has been different from what I suspect it to
be. Listen, then, to my narrative. If there be anything
in his story inconsistent with mine, his story is false."

I then proceeded to a circumstantial relation of the inci-
dents of the last night. Wieland listened with deep atten-
tion. Having finished, " This," continued I, " is the truth.
You see in what circumstances an interview took place
between Carwin and me. He remained for hours in my
closet, and for some minutes in my chamber. He departed
without haste or interruption. If Pleyel marked him as
he left the house, (and it is not impossible that he did,) in-
ferences injurious to my character might suggest them-
selves to him. In admitting them, he gave proofs of less
discernment and less candor than I once ascribed to him."

" His proofs," said Wieland, after a considerable pause,
" are different. That he should be deceived is not possible.
That he himself is not the deceiver could not be believed,
if his testimony were not inconsistent with yours; but the
doubts which I entertained are now removed. Your tale,
some parts of it, is marvelous; the voice which exclaimed
against your rashness in approaching the closet, your per-
sisting, notwithstanding that prohibition, your belief that
I was the ruffian, and your subsequent conduct, are be-

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lieved by me, because I have known you from childhood,
because a thousand instances have attested your veracity,
and because nothing less than my own hearing and vision
would convince me, in opposition to her own assertions,
that my sister had fallen into wickedness like this."

I threw my arms around him and bathed his cheek with
my tears. " That," said I, " is spoken like my brother.
But what are the proofs?"

He replied, " Pleyel informed me that, in going to your
house, his attention was attracted by two voices. The
persons speaking sat beneath the bank, out of sight. These
persons, judging by their voices, were Carwin and you. I
will not repeat the dialogue. If my sister was the female,
Pleyel was justified in concluding you to be indeed one of
the most profligate of women. Hence his accusations of
you, and his efforts to obtain my concurrence to a plan by
which an eternal separation should be brought about be-
tween my sister and this man."

I made Wieland repeat this recital. Here indeed was a
tale to fill me with terrible foreboding. I had vainly thought
that my safety could be sufficiently secured by doors and
bars, but this is a foe from whose grasp no power of divinity
can save me! His artifices will ever lay my fame and hap-
piness at his mercy. How shall I counterwork his plots
or detect his coadjutor? He has taught some vile and aban-
doned female to mimic my voice. Pleyel's ears were the
witnesses of my dishonor. This is the midnight assignation
to which he alluded. Thus is the silence he maintained
when attempting to open the door of my chamber, ac-
counted for. He supposed me absent, and meant, perhaps,
had my apartment been accessible, to leave in it some accus-
ing memorial.

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SECOND PART

As this part opens, the unhappy Clara is describing her hurried
return to the same ill-fated abode at Mettingen. Hence kind
friends had borne her after the catastrophe of her brother Wie-
land's "transformation." This was the crowning horror of all:
the morbid fanatic, prepared by gloomy anticipations of some ter-
rible sacrifice to be demanded in the name of religion, had found
himself goaded to blind fury, by a mysterious compelling voice, to
yield up to God the lives of his beloved wife and family; and had
done the awful deed!

Though chained in his madhouse, he persists in his delusion; in-
sists that it still remains for him to sacrifice his sister Clara; and
twice breaks away in wild efforts to find and destroy her.

I TOOK an irregular path v^hich led me to my own house.
All was vacant and forlorn. A small enclosure near which
the path led was the burying ground belonging to the
family. This I was obliged to pass. Once I had intended
to enter it, and ponder on the emblems and inscriptions
which my uncle had caused to be made on the tombs of
Catharine and her children; but now my heart faltered as I
approached, and I hastened forward that distance might
conceal it from my view.

When I approached the recess, my heart again sunk. I
averted my eyes, and left it behind me as quickly as pos-
sible. Silence reigned through my habitation, and a dark-
ness which closed doors and shutters produced. Every
object was connected with mine or my brother's history.
I passed the entry, mounted the stair, and unlocked the
door of my chamber. It was with difBculty that I curbed
my fancy and smothered my fears. Slight movements and
casual sounds were transformed into beckoning shadows
and calling shapes.

I proceeded to the closet. I opened and looked round it
with fearfulness. All things were in their accustomed

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order. I sought and found the manuscript where I was
used to deposit it. This being secured, there was nothing
to detain me ; yet I stood and contemplated awhile the
furniture and walls of my chamber. I remembered how
long this apartment had been a sweet and tranquil asylum ;
I compared its former state with its present dreariness, and
reflected that I now beheld it for the last time.

Here it was that the incomprehensible behavior of Car-
win was witnessed; this the stage on which that enemy of
man showed himself for a moment unmasked. Here the
menaces of murder were wafted to my ear ; and here these
menaces were executed.

These thoughts had a tendency to take from me my self-
command. My feeble limbs refused to support me, and I
sunk upon a chair. Incoherent and half-articulate exclama-
tions escaped my lips. The name of Carwin was uttered,
and eternal woes — woes like that which his malice had en-
tailed upon us — were heaped upon him. I invoked all-
seeing heaven to drag to light and punish this betrayer, and
accused its providence for having thus long delayed the
retribution that was due to so enormous a guilt.

I have said that the window shutters were closed. A
feeble light, however, found entrance through the crevices.
A small window illuminated the closet, and, the door being
closed, a dim ray streamed through the keyhole. A kind
of twilight was thus created, sufficient for the purposes of
vision, but, at the same time, involving all minuter objects
in obscurity.

This darkness suited the color of my thoughts. I sick-
ened at the remembrance of the past. The prospect of the
future excited my loathing. I muttered, in a low voice,
" Why should I live longer ? Why should I drag a miser-
able being? All for whom I ought to live have perished.
Am I not myself hunted to death ? "

At that moment my despair suddenly became vigorous.
My nerves were no longer unstrung. My powers, that had
long been deadened, were revived. My bosom swelled with
a sudden energy, and the conviction darted through my

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mind, that to end my torments was, at once, practicable
and wise.

I knew how to find way to the recesses of life. I
could use a lancet with some skill, and could distinguish
between vein and artery. By piercing deep into the latter,
I should shun the evils which the future had in store for
me, and take refuge from my woes in quiet death.

I started on my feet, for my feebleness was gone, and
hasted to the closet. A lancet and other small instruments
were preserved in a case which I had deposited here. In-
attentive as I was to foreign considerations, my ears were
still open to any sound of mysterious import that should
occur. I thought I heard a step in the entry. My purpose
was suspended, and I cast an eager glance at my chamber
door, which was open. No one appeared, unless the
shadow which I discerned upon the floor was the outline
of a man. If it were, I was authorized to suspect that
some one was posted close to the entrance, who possibly
had overheard my exclamations.

My teeth chattered, and a wild confusion took the place
of my momentary calm. Thus it was when a terrific visage
had disclosed itself on a former night. Thus it was when
the evil destiny of Wieland assumed the lineaments of some-
thing human. What horrid apparition was preparing to
blast my sight?

Still I listened and gazed. Not long, for the shadow
moved ; a foot, unshapely and huge, was thrust forward ;
a form advanced from its concealment, and stalked into
the room. It was Carwin !

While I had breath, I shrieked. While I had power over
my muscles, I motioned with my hand that he should van-
ish. My exertions could not last long: I sunk into a fit.

Oh that this grateful oblivion had lasted forever! Too
quickly I recovered my senses. The power of distinct
vision was no sooner restored to me, than this hateful form
again presented itself, and I once more relapsed.

A second time, untoward nature recalled me from the
sleep of death, I found myself stretched upon the bed.

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Charles Brockden Brown

When I had power to look up, I remembered only that I
had cause to fear. My distempered fancy fashioned to
itself no distinguishable image. I threw a languid glance
round me : once more my eyes lighted upon Carwin,

He was seated on the floor, his back rested against the
wall ; his knees were drawn up, and his face was buried in
his hands. That his station was at some distance, that his
attitude was not menacing, that his ominous visage was
concealed, may account for my now escaping a shock vio-
lent as those which were past. I withdrew my eyes, but
was not again deserted by my senses.

On perceiving that I had recovered my sensibility, he
lifted his head. This motion attracted my attention. His
countenance was mild, but sorrow and astonishment sat
upon his features. I averted my eyes and feebly exclaimed,
" Oh, fly ! — fly far and forever ! — I cannot behold you and
live ! "

He did not rise upon his feet, but clasped his hands, and
said, in a tone of deprecation, " I will fly. I am become a
fiend, the sight of whom destroys. Yet tell me my oflEense !
You have linked curses with my name ; you ascribe to me
a malice monstrous and infernal. I look around : all is
loneliness and desert! This house and your brother's are
solitary and dismantled ! You die away at the sight of me !
My fear whispers that some deed of horror has been per-
petrated ; that I am the undesigning cause."

What language was this? Had he not avowed himself
a ravisher? Had not this chamber witnessed his atrocious
purposes? I besought him with new vehemence to go.

He lifted his eyes: — "Great heaven! what have I done?
I think I know the extent of my offenses. I have acted,
but my actions have possibly effected more than I designed.
This fear has brought me back from my retreat. I come
to repair the evil of which my rashness was the cause, and
to prevent more evil. I come to confess my errors,"

" Wretch ! " I cried, when mv suffocating emotions would
permit me to speak, " the ghosts of my sister and her chil-
dren,— do they not rise to accuse thee? Who was it that

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blasted the intellect of Wieland? Who was it that urged
him to fury and guided him to murder ? Who, but thou and
the devil, with whom thou art confederated?"

At these words a new spirit pervaded his countenance.
His eyes once more appealed to heaven. " If I have mem-
ory— if I have being — I am innocent. I intended no ill ;
but my folly, indirectly and remotely, may have caused it.
But what words are these ? Your brother lunatic ! His
children dead ! "

What should I infer from this deportment? Was the
ignorance which these words implied real or pretended?
Yet how could I imagine a mere human agency in these
events? But, if the influence was preternatural or maniacal
in my brother's case, they must be equally so in my own.
Then I remembered that the voice exerted was to save me
from Carwin's attempts. These ideas tended to abate my
abhorrence of this man, and to detect the absurdity of my
accusations.

" Alas ! " said I, " I have no one to accuse. Leave me
to my fate. Fly from a scene stained with cruelty, devoted
to despair."

Carwin stood for a time musing and mournful. At
length he said, " What has happened ? I came to expiate
my crimes : let me know them in their full extent. I have
horrible forebodings ! What has happened ? "

I was silent ; but, recollecting the intimation given by
this man when he was detected in my closet, which implied
some knowledge of that power which interfered in my
favor, I eagerly inquired, " What was that voice which
called upon me to hold when I attempted to open the closet ?
What face was that which I saw at the bottom of the stairs ?
Answer me truly."

" I came to confess the truth. Your allusions are hor-
rible and strange. Perhaps I have but faint conceptions
of the evils which my infatuation has produced ; but what
remains I will perform. It was my voice that you heard !
It was my face that you saw ! "

For a moment I doubted whether my remembrance of

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events were not confused. How could he be at once sta-
tioned at my shoulder and shut up in my closet? How
could he stand near me and yet be invisible? But if Car-
win's were the thrilling voice and the fiery image which I
had heard and seen, then was he the prompter of my
brother, and the author of these dismal outrages.

Once more I averted my eyes and struggled for speech : —
" Begone ! thou man of mischief ! Remorseless and im-
placable miscreant, begone ! "

" I will obey," said he, in a disconsolate voice ; " yet,
wretch as I am, am I unworthy to repair the evils that I
have committed? I came as a repentant criminal. It is
you whom I have injured, and at your bar am I willing
to appear and confess and expiate my crimes. I have de-
ceived you ; I have sported with your terrors ; I have plotted
to destroy your reputation. I come now to remove your
terrors ; to set you beyond the reach of similar fears ; to
rebuild your fame as far as I am able.

" This is the amount of my guilt, and this the fruit of
my remorse. Will you not hear me? Listen to my con-
fession, and then denounce punishment. All I ask is a
patient audience."

" What ! " I replied ; " was not thine the voice that com-
manded my brother to imbrue his hands in the blood of
his children? — to strangle that angel of sweetness, his wife?
Has he not vowed my death, and the death of Pleyel, at
thy bidding? Hast thou not made him the butcher of his
family? — changed him who was the glory of his species
into worse than brute? — robbed him of reason and con-
signed the rest of his days to fetters and stripes ? "

Carwin's eyes glared and his limbs were petrified at this
intelligence. No words were requisite to prove him guilt-
less of these enormities : at the time, however, I was nearly
insensible to these exculpatory tokens. He walked to the
farther end of the room, and, having recovered some de-
gree of composure, he spoke : —

" I am not this villain. I have slain no one ; I have
prompted none to slay ; I have handled a tool of wonder-

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ful efficacy without malignant intentions, but without cau-
tion. Ample will be the punishment of my temerity, if my
conduct has contributed to this evil." He paused.

I likewise was silent. I struggled to command myself
so far as to listen to the tale which he should tell. Observ-
ing this, he continued : —

" You are not apprised of the existence of a power which
I possess. I know not by what name to call it.^ It enables
me to mimic exactly the voice of another, and to modify
the sound so that it shall appear to come from what quarter
and be uttered at what distance I please.

" I know not that everyone possesses this power. Per-
haps, though a casual position of my organs in my youth
showed me that I possessed it, it is an art which may be
taught to all. Would to God I had died unknowing of
the secret! It has produced nothing but degradation and
calamity."

1 Biloquium, or ventrilocution. Sound is varied according to the
variations of direction and distance. The art of the ventriloquist
consists in modifying his voice according to all these variations,
without changing his place. See the work of the Ahh6 de la Chap-
pelle, in which are accurately recorded the performances of one of
these artists, and some ingenious though unsatisfactory speculations
are given on the means by which the effects are produced. This
power is, perhaps, given by nature, but is doubtless improvable,
if not acquirable, by art. It may, possibly, consist in an unusual
flexibility or extension of the bottom of the tongue and the uvula.
That speech is producible by these alone must be granted, since
anatomists mention two instances of persons speaking without a
tongue. In one case the organ was originally wanting, but its
place was supplied by a small tubercle, and the uvula was perfect.
In the other the tongue was destroyed by disease, but probably
a small part of it remained.

This power is difficult to explain, but the fact is undeniable. Ex-
perience shows that the human voice can imitate the voice of all
men and of all inferior ^mimals. The sound of musical instruments,
and even noises from the contact of inanimate substances, have
been accurately imitated. The mimicry of animals is notorious;
and Dr. Burney ("Musical Travels") mentions one who imitated a
flute and violin, so as to deceive even his ears.

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Charles Brockden Brown

THIRD PART

After Carwin's confession of his powers of ventriloquism all
the mysteries are cleared up — save one. The owner of the voice
heard in Clara's chamber, on the first night after the wanderer
appeared at Mettingen ; the threatener on the edge of the precipice ;
the spy in Clara's closet, and would-be intruder; the manipulator
of the vile plot that destroyed her lover's confidence — all these
hidden identities have materialized in the person of this one un-
happy man. But while confessing the prying disposition which
led to these sins, in efforts to protect himself from discovery,
Carwin still denies that Wieland's mad acts were perpetrated at
his instigation.

" I HAVE Uttered the truth. This is the extent of my
offenses. You tell me a horrid tale of Wieland being led
to the destruction of his wife and children by some mys-
terious agent. You charge me with the guilt of this agency ;
but I repeat that the amount of my guilt has been truly
stated. The perpetrator of Catharine's death was unknown
to me till now ; nay, it is still unknown to me."

At that moment, the closing of a door in the kitchen
was distinctly heard by us. Carwin started and paused.
" There is some one coming. I must not be found here by
my enemies, and need not, since my purpose is answered."

I had drunk in, with the most vehement attention, every
word that he had uttered. I had no breath to interrupt his
tale by interrogations or comments. The power that he
spoke of was hitherto unknown to me; its existence was
incredible ; it was susceptible of no direct proof.

He owns that his were the voice and face which I heard
and saw. He attempts to give a human explanation of
these phantasms ; but it is enough that he owns himself
to be the agent : his tale is a lie, and his nature devilish.
As he deceived me, he likewise deceived my brother, and
now do I behold the author of all our calamities !

Such were my thoughts when his pause allowed me to

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think. I should have bade him begone if the silence had
not been interrupted ; but now I feared no more for myself ;
and the milkiness of my nature was curdled into hatred and
rancor. Some one was near, and this enemy of God and
man might possibly be brought to justice. I reflected not
that the preternatural power which he had hitherto exerted
would avail to rescue him from any toils in which his feet
might be entangled. Meanwhile, looks, and not words, of
menace and abhorrence, were all that I could bestow.

He did not depart. He seemed dubious whether by pass-
ing out of the house, or by remaining somewhat longer
where he was, he should most endanger his safety. His
confusion increased when steps of one barefoot were heard
upon the stairs. He threw anxious glances sometimes at
the closet, sometimes at the window, and sometimes at the
chamber door; yet he was detained by some inexplicable
fascination. He stood as if rooted to the spot.

As to me, my soul was bursting with detestation and
revenge. I had no room for surmises and fears respect-
ing him that approached. It was doubtless a human being,
and would befriend me so far as to aid me in arresting this
offender.

The stranger quickly entered the room. My eyes and
the eyes of Carwin were at the same moment darted upon
him. A second glance was not needed to inform us who
he was. His locks were tangled, and fell confusedly over
his forehead and ears. His shirt was of coarse stuff, and
open at the neck and breast. His coat was once of bright
and fine texture, but now torn and tarnished with dust.
His feet, his legs, and his arms, were bare. His features
were the seat of a wild and tranquil solemnity, but his eyes
bespoke inquietude and curiosity.

He advanced with a firm step, and looking as in search
of some one. He saw me and stopped. He bent his sight
on the floor, and, clenching his hands, appeared suddenly
absorbed in meditation. Such were the figure and deport-
ment of Wieland ! Such, in his fallen state, were the aspect
and guise of my brother!

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Charles Brockden Brown

Carwin did not fail to recognize the visitant. Care for
his own safety was apparently swallowed up in the amaze-
ment which this spectacle produced. His station was con-
spicuous, and he could not have escaped the roving glances
of Wieland ; yet the latter seemed totally unconscious of
his presence.

Grief at this scene of ruin and blast was at first the only
sentiment of which I was conscious. A fearful stillness
ensued. At length Wieland, lifting his hands, which were
locked in each other, to his breast, exclaimed, " Father ! I
thank thee. This is thy guidance. Hither thou hast led
me, that I might perform thy will. Yet let me not err ;
let me hear again thy messenger ! "

He stood for a minute as if listening; but, recovering
from his attitude, he continued, " It is not needed. Das-
tardly wretch ! thus eternally questioning the behests of thy
Maker ! weak in resolution, wayward in faith ! "

He advanced to me, and, after another pause, resumed : —
" Poor girl ! a dismal fate has set its mark upon thee. Thy
life is demanded as a sacrifice. Prepare thee to die. Make
not my office difficult by fruitless opposition. Thy prayers
might subdue stones ; but none but he who enjoined my
purpose can shake it."

These words were a sufficient explication of the scene.
The nature of his frenzy, as described by my uncle, was
remembered. I, who had sought death, was now thrilled
with horror because it was near. Death in this form, death
from the hand of a brother, was thought upon with inde-
scribable repugnance.

In a state thus verging upon madness, my eye glanced
upon Carwin. His astonishment appeared to have struck
him motionless and dumb. My life was in danger, and my
brother's hapd was about to be imbrued in my blood. I
firmly believed that Carwin's was the instigation. I could
rescue myself from this abhorred fate ; I could dissipate
this tremendous illusion ; I could save my brother from the
perpetration of new horrors, by pointing out the devil who
seduced him. To hesitate a moment was to perish. These

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thoughts gave strength to my limbs and energy to my
accents ; I started on my feet : —

" Oh, brother ! spare me ! spare thyself ! There is thy
betrayer. He counterfeited the voice and face of an angel,
for the purpose of destroying thee and me. He has this
moment confessed it. He is able to speak where he is not.
He is leagued with hell, but will not avow it; yet he con-
fesses that the agency was his."

My brother turned slowly his eyes, and fixed them upon
Carwin. Every joint in the frame of the latter trembled.
His complexion was paler than a ghost's. His eye dared
not meet that of Wieland, but wandered with an air of
distraction from one space to another.

" Man," said my brother, in a voice totally unlike that
which he had used to me, " what art thou ? The charge
has been made. Answer it. The visage — the voice — at the
bottom of these stairs — at the hour of eleven — to whom did
they belong? To thee?"

Twice did Carwin attempt to speak, but his words died
away upon his lips. My brother resumed, in a tone of
greater vehemence: —

" Thou falterest. Faltering is ominous. Say yes or no ;
one word will suffice ; but beware of falsehood. Was it a
stratagem of hell to overthrow my family? Wast thou the
agent?"

I now saw that the wrath which had been prepared for
me was to be heaped upon another. The tale that I heard
from him, and his present trepidations, were abundant tes-
timonies of his guilt. But what if Wieland should be un-
deceived ! What if he shall find his act to have proceeded
not from a heavenly prompter, but from human treachery !
Will not his rage mount into whirlwind? Will not he tear
limb from limb this devoted wretch?

Instinctively I recoiled from this image ; but it gave place
to another. Carwin may be innocent, but the impetuosity
of his judge may misconstrue his answers into a confession
of guilt. Wieland knows not that mysterious voices and
appearances were likewise witnessed by me. Carwin may

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be ignorant of those which misled my brother. Thus may
his answers unwarily betray himself to ruin.

Such might be the consequences of my frantic precipita-
tion, and these it was necessary, if possible, to prevent. I
attempted to speak ; but Wieland, turning suddenly upon
me, commanded silence, in a tone furious and terrible. My
lips closed, and my tongue refused its office.

" What art thou ? " he resumed, addressing himself to
Carwin. " Answer me : whose form — whose voice, — was it
thy contrivance? Answer me."

The answer was now given, but confusedly and scarcely
articulated. " I meant nothing — I intended no ill — if I
understand — if I do not mistake you — it is too true — I did
appear — in the entry — did speak. The contrivance was
mine, but "

These words were no sooner uttered, than my brother
ceased to wear the same aspect. His eyes were downcast ;
he was motionless ; his respiration became hoarse, like that
of a man in the agonies of death. Carwin seemed unable
to say more. He might have easily escaped ; but the
thought which occupied him related to what was horrid and
unintelligible in this scene, and not to his own danger.

Presently the faculties of Wieland, which, for a time,
were chained up, were seized with restlessness and trem-
bling. He broke silence. The stoutest heart would have
been appalled by the tone in which he spoke. He addressed
himself to Carwin : —

" Why art thou here ? Who detains thee ? Go and learn
better. I will meet thee, but it must be at the bar of thy
Maker. There shall I bear witness against thee."

Perceiving that Carwin did not obey, he continued, " Dost
thou wish me to complete the catalogue by thy death?
Thy life is a worthless thing. Tempt me no more. I am
but a man, and thy presence may awaken a fury which
may spurn my control. Begone ! "

Carwin, irresolute, striving in vain for utterance, his
complexion pallid as death, his knees beating one against
another, slowly obeyed the mandate and withdrew.

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II

A FEW words more and I lay aside the pen forever. Yet
why should I not relinquish it now? All that I have said
is preparatory to this scene, and my fingers, tremulous and
cold as my heart, refuse any further exertion. This must
not be. Let my last energies support me in the finishing
of this task. Then will I lay down my head in the lap of
death. Hushed will be all my murmurs in the sleep of the
grave.

Every sentiment has perished in my bosom. Even friend-
ship is extinct. Your love for me has prompted me to this
task; but I would not have complied if it had not been a
luxury thus to feast upon my woes. I have justly calcu-
lated upon my remnant of strength. When I lay down the
pen the taper of life will expire ; my existence will terminate
with my tale.

Now that I was left alone with Wieland, the perils of
my situation presented themselves to my mind. That this
paroxysm should terminate in havoc and rage it was rea-
sonable to predict. The first suggestion of my fears had
been disproved by my experience. Carwin had acknowl-
edged his offenses, and yet had escaped. The vengeance
which I had harbored had not been admitted by Wieland ;
and yet the evils which I had endured, compared with those
inflicted on my brother, were as nothing. I thirsted for
his blood, and was tormented with an insatiable appetite
for his destruction ; but my brother was unmoved, and had
dismissed him in safety. Surely thou wast more than man,
while I am sunk below the beasts.

Did I place a right construction on the conduct of Wie-
land? Was the error that misled him so easily rectified?
Were views so vivid and faith so strenuous thus liable to
fading and to change? Was there not reason to doubt the
accuracy of my perceptions? With images like these was
my mind thronged, till the deportment of my brother called
away my attention.

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Charles Brockdcn Broivn

I saw his lips move and his eyes cast up to heaven. Then
would he listen and look back, as if in expectation of some
one's appearance. Thrice he repeated these gesticulations
and this inaudible prayer. Each time the mist of confusion
and doubt seemed to grow darker and to settle on his
understanding. I guessed at the meaning of these tokens.
The words of Carwin had shaken his belief, and he was
employed in summoning the messenger who had formerly
communed with him, to attest the value of those new
doubts. In vain the summons was repeated, for his eye met
nothing but vacancy, and not a sound saluted his ear.

He walked to the bed, gazed with eagerness at the pillow
which had sustained the head of the breathless Catharine,
and then returned to the place where I sat. I had no power
to lift my eyes to his face : I was dubious of his purpose ;
this purpose might aim at my life.

Alas! nothing but subjection to danger and exposure to
temptation can show us what we are. By this test was I
now tried, and found to be cowardly and rash. Men can
deliberately untie the thread of life, and of this I had
deemed myself capable. It was now that I stood upon the
brink of fate, that the knife of the sacrificer was aimed at
my heart, I shuddered, and betook myself to any means of
escape, however monstrous.

Can I bear to think — can I endure to relate the outrage
which my heart meditated? Where were my means of
safety? Resistance was vain. Not even the energy of de-
spair could set me on a level with that strength which his
terrific prompter had bestowed upon Wieland. Terror
enables us to perform incredible feats ; but terror was not
then the state of my mind: where then were my hopes of
rescue ?

Methinks it is too much. I stand aside, as it were, from
myself ; I estimate my own deservings ; a hatred, immortal
and inexorable, is my due. I listen to my own pleas, and
find them empty and false : yes, I acknowledge that my
guilt surpasses that of mankind ; I confess that the curses
of a world and the frowns of a Deity are inadequate to my

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demerits. Is there a thing in the world worthy of infinite
abhorrence? It is I.

What shall I say? I was menaced, as I thought, with
death, and, to elude this evil, my hand was ready to inflict
death upon the menacer. In visiting my house, I had made
provision against the machinations of Carwin. In a fold
of my dress an open penknife was concealed. This I now
seized and drew forth. It lurked out of view ; but I now
see that my state of mind would have rendered the deed
inevitable if my brother had lifted his hand. This instru-
ment of my preservation would have been plunged into his
heart.

O insupportable remembrance! hide thee from my view
for a time ; hide it from me that my heart was black enough
to meditate the stabbing of a brother ! a brother thus su-
preme in misery ; thus towering in virtue !

He was probably unconscious of my design, but pres-
ently drew back. This interval was sufficient to restore me
to myself. The madness, the iniquity, of that act which I
had purposed rushed upon my apprehension. For a mo-
ment I was breathless with agony. At the next moment
I recovered my strength, and threw the knife with violence
on the floor.

The sound awoke my brother from his reverie. He gazed
alternately at me and at the weapon. With a movement
equally solemn he stooped and took it up. He placed the
blade in different positions, scrutinizing it accurately, and
maintaining, at the same time, a profound silence.

Again he looked at me ; but all that vehemence and lofti-
ness of spirit which had so lately characterized his features
were flown. Fallen muscles, a forehead contracted into
folds, eyes dim with unbidden drops, and a ruefulness of
aspect which no words can describe, were now visible.

His looks touched into energy the same sympathies in
me, and I poured forth a flood of tears. This passion was
quickly checked by fear, which had now no longer my own
but his safety for their object. I watched his deportment
in silence. At length he spoke : —

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Charles Brockdcn Brotvn

" Sister," said he, in an accent mournful and mild, " I
have acted poorly my part in this world. What thinkest
thou ? Shall I not do better in the next ? "

I could make no answer. The mildness of his tone aston-
ished and encouraged me. I continued to regard him with
wistful and anxious looks.

" I think," resumed he, " I will try. My wife and my
babes have gone before. Happy wretches! I have sent
you to repose, and ought not to linger behind."

These words had a meaning sufficiently intelligible. I
looked at the open knife in his hand and shuddered, but
knew not how to prevent the deed which I dreaded. He
quickly noticed my fears, and comprehended them. Stretch-
ing toward me his hand, with an air of increasing mildness,
" Take it," said he ; " fear not for thy own sake, nor for
mine. The cup is gone by, and its transient inebriation is
succeeded by the soberness of truth.

" Thou angel whom I was wont to worship ! fearest
thou, my sister, for thy life? Once it was the scope of my
labors to destroy thee, but I was prompted to the deed by
heaven; such, at least, was my belief. Thinkest thou that
thy death was sought to gratify malevolence? No. I am
pure from all stain. I believed that my God was my mover !

" Neither thee nor myself have I cause to injure. I have
done my duty ; and surely there is merit in having sacrificed
to that all that is dear to the heart of man. If a devil has
deceived me, he came in the habit of an angel. HI erred,
it was not my judgment that deceived me, but my senses.
In thy sight. Being of beings! I am still pure. Still will
I look for my reward in thy justice ! "

Did my ears truly report these sounds? If I did not
err, my brother was restored to just perceptions. He knew
himself to have been betrayed to the murder of his wife
and children, to have been the victim of infernal artifice ;
yet he found consolation in the rectitude of his motives.
He was not devoid of sorrow, for this was written on his
countenance; but his soul was tranquil and sublime.
Perhaps this was merely a transition of his former mad-

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ness into a new shape. Perhaps he had not yet awakened
to the memory of the horrors which he had perpetrated.
Infatuated wretch that I was ! To set myself up as a model
by which to judge of my heroic brother ! My reason taught
me that his conclusions were right ; but, conscious of the
impotence of reason over my own conduct, conscious of
my cowardly rashness and my criminal despair, I doubted
whether anyone could be steadfast and wise.

Such was my weakness, that even in the midst of these
thoughts my mind glided into abhorrence of Carwin, and
I uttered, in a low voice, " O Carwin ! Carwin ! what hast
thou to answer for ? "

My brother immediately noticed the involuntary exclama-
tion. *' Clara ! " said he, " be thyself. Equity used to be
a theme for thy eloquence. Reduce its lessons to practice,
and be just to that unfortunate man. The instrument has
done its work, and I am satisfied.

" I thank thee, my God, for this last illumination ! My
enemy is thine also. I deemed him to be a man, — the man
with whom I have often communed ; but now thy goodness
has unveiled to me his true nature. As the performer of
thy behests, he is my friend."

My heart began now to misgive me. His mournful
aspect had gradually yielded place to a serene brow. A
new soul appeared to actuate his frame, and his eyes to
beam with preternatural luster. These symptoms did not
abate, and he continued : —

" Clara, I must not leave thee in doubt. I know not
what brought about thy interview with the being whom
thou callest Carwin. For a time I was guilty of thy error,
and deduced from his incoherent confessions that I had
been made the victim of human malice. He left us at my
bidding, and I put up a prayer that my doubts should be
removed. Thy eyes were shut and thy ears sealed to the
vision that answered my prayer.

" I was indeed deceived. The form thou hast seen was
the incarnation of a demon. The visage and voice which
urged me to the sacrifice of my family were his. Now he

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Charles Brockden Brown

personates a human form; then he was environed with the
luster of heaven.

" Clara," he continued, advancing closer to me, " thy
death must come. This minister is evil, but he from whom
his commission was received is God. Submit then with all
thy wonted resignation to a decree that cannot be reversed
or resisted. Mark the clock. Three minutes are allowed
to thee, in which to call up thy fortitude and prepare thee
for thy doom." There he stopped.

Even now, when this scene exists only in memory, when
life and all its functions have sunk into torpor, my pulse
throbs, and my hairs uprise ; my brows are knit, as then,
and I gaze around me in distraction. I was unconquerably
averse to death ; but death, imminent and full of agony as
that which was threatened, was nothing. This was not the
only or chief inspirer of my fears.

For him, not for myself, was my soul tormented. I
might die, and no crime, surpassing the reach of mercy,
would pursue me to the presence of my Judge ; but my
assassin would survive to contemplate his deed, and that
assassin was Wieland!

Wings to bear me beyond his reach I had not. I could
not vanish with a thought. The door was open, but my
murderer was interposed between that and me. Of self-
defense I was incapable. The frenzy that lately prompted
me to blood was gone : my state was desperate ; my rescue
was impossible.

The weight of these accumulated thoughts could not
be borne. My sight became confused; my limbs were
seized with convulsion; I spoke, but my words were half
formed : —

" Spare me, my brother ! Look down, righteous Judge !
snatch me from this fate ! take away this fury from him,
or turn it elsewhere ! "

Such was the agony of my thoughts that I noticed not
steps entering my apartment. Supplicating eyes were cast
upward ; but when my prayer was breathed I once more
wildly gazed at the door. A form met my sight; I shud-

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dered as if the God whom I invoked were present. It
was Carwin that again int«-uded, and who stood before me,
erect in attitude and stead last in look!

The sight of him awakened new and rapid thoughts.
His recent tale was remembered ; his magical transitions
and mysterious energy of voice. Whether he were infernal
or miraculous or human, there was no power and no need
to decide. Whether the contriver or not of this spell, he
was able to unbind it, and to check the fury of my brother.
He had ascribed to himself intentions not malignant. Here
now was afforded a test of his truth. Let him interpose,
as from above ; revoke the savage decree which the mad-
ness of Wieland has assigned to heaven, and extinguish
forever this passion for blood !

My mind detected at a glance this avenue to safety. The
recommendations it possessed thronged as it were together,
and made but one impression on my intellect. Remoter
effects and collateral dangers I saw not. Perhaps the pause
of an instant had sufficed to call them up. The improba-
bility that the influence which governed Wieland was ex-
ternal or human ; the tendency of this stratagem to sanction
so fatal an error or substitute a more destructive rage in
place of this ; the insufficiency of Carwin's mere muscular
forces to counteract the efforts and restrain the fury of
Wieland, might, at a second glance, have been discovered ;
but no second glance was allowed. My first thought hur-
ried me to action, and, fixing my eyes upon Carwin, I
exclaimed, —

" O wretch ! once more hast thou come ? Let it be to
abjure thy malice ; to counterwork this hellish stratagem ;
to turn from me and from my brother this desolating rage !

" Testify thy innocence or thy remorse ; exert the powers
which pertain to thee, whatever they be, to turn aside this
ruin. Thou art the author of these horrors! What have
I done to deserve thus to die? How have I merited this
unrelenting persecution? I adjure thee, by that God whose
voice thou hast dared to counterfeit, to save my life!

" Wilt thou then go ? — leave me ! Succorless ! "

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Charles Brockdcn Brown

Carwin listened to my entreaties unmoved, and turned
from me. He seemed to hesitate a moment, — then glided
through the door. Rage and despair stifled my utterance.
The interval of respite was past ; the pangs reserved for
me by Wieland were not to be endured ; my thoughts rushed
again into anarchy. Having received the knife from his
hand, I held it loosely and without regard ; but now it seized
again my attention, and I grasped it with force.

He seemed to notice not the entrance or exit of Carwin.
My gesture and the murderous weapon appeared to have
escaped his notice. His silence was unbroken ; his eye,
fixed upon the clock for a time, was now withdrawn ; fury
kindled in every feature ; all that was human in his face
gave way to an expression supernatural and tremendous.
I felt my left arm within his grasp.

Even now I hesitated to strike. I shrunk from his
assault, but in vain.

Here let me desist. Why should I rescue this event from
oblivion? Why should I paint this detestable conflict?
Why not terminate at once this series of horrors? — Hurry
to the verge of the precipice, and cast myself forever be-
yond remembrance and beyond hope?

Still I live ; with this load upon my breast ; with this
phantom to pursue my steps ; with adders lodged in my
bosom, and stinging me to madness ; still I consent to live !

Yes ! I will rise above the sphere of mortal passions ; I
will spurn at the cowardly remorse that bids me seek im-
punity in silence, or comfort in forgetfulness. My nerves
shall be new-strung to the task. Have I not resolved? I
will die. The gulf before me is inevitable and near. I will
die, but then only when my tale is at an end.

ni

My right hand, grasping the unseen knife, was still dis-
engaged. It was lifted to strike. All my strength was
exhausted but what was sufficient to the performance of this

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deed. Already was the energy awakened and the impulse

given that should bear the fatal steel to his heart, when

Wieland shrunk back ; his hand was withdrawn. Breath-
less with affright and desperation, I stood, freed from his
grasp ; unassailed ; untouched.

Thus long had the power which controlled the scene
forborne to interfere : but now his might was irresistible ;
and Wieland in a moment was disarmed of all his pur-
poses. A voice, louder than human organs could produce,
shriller than language can depict, burst from the ceiling
and commanded him — to hold!

Trouble and dismay succeeded to the steadfastness that
had lately been displayed in the looks of Wieland. His
eyes roved from one quarter to another, with an expression
of doubt. He seemed to wait for a further intimation.

Carwin's agency was here easily recognized. I had be-
sought him to interpose in my defense. He had flown. I
had imagined him deaf to my prayer, and resolute to see
me perish ; yet he disappeared merely to devise and execute
the means of my relief.

Why did he not forbear when this end was accomplished ?
Why did his misjudging zeal and accursed precipitation
overpass that limit ? Or meant he thus to crown the scene,
and conduct his inscrutable plots to this consummation?

Such ideas were the fruit of subsequent contemplation.
This moment was pregnant with fate. I had no power to
reason. In the career of my tempestuous thoughts, rent
into pieces as my mind was by accumulating horrors. Car-
win was unseen and unsuspected. I partook of Wieland's
credulity, shook with his amazement, and panted with his
awe.

Silence took place for a moment : so much as allowed
the attention to recover its post. Then new sounds were
uttered from above : —

" Man of errors ! cease to cherish thy delusion ; not
heaven or hell, but thy senses, have misled thee to commit
these acts. Shake off thy frenzy, and ascend into rational
and human. Be lunatic no longer."

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Charles Brockden Brown

My brother opened his Hps to speak. His tone was ter-
rific and faint. He muttered an appeal to heaven. It was
difficult to comprehend the theme of his inquiries. They
implied doubt as to the nature of the impulse that hitherto
had guided him, and questioned whether he had acted in
consequence of insane perceptions.

To these interrogatories the voice, which now seemed to
hover at his shoulder, loudly answered in the affirmative.
Then uninterrupted silence ensued.

Fallen from his lofty and heroic station ; now finally
restored to the perception of truth ; weighed to earth by
the recollection of his own deeds ; cons-oled no longer by
a consciousness of rectitude for the loss of offspring and
wife, — a loss for which he was indebted to his own mis-
guided hand, — Wieland was transformed at once into the
man of sorrozvs!

He reflected not that credit should be as reasonably de-
nied to the last as to any former intimation ; that one might
as justly be ascribed to erring or diseased senses as the
other. He saw not that this discovery in no degree affected
the integrity of his conduct ; that his motives had lost none
of their claims to the homage of mankind ; that the prefer-
ence of supreme good, and the boundless energy of duty,
were undiminished in his bosom.

It is not for me to pursue him through the ghastly
changes of his countenance. Words he had none. Now
he sat upon the floor, motionless in all his limbs, with his
eyes glazed and fixed, a monument of woe.

Anon a spirit of tempestuous but undesigning activity
seized him. He rose from his place and strode across the
floor, tottering and at random. His eyes were without
moisture, and gleamed with the fire that consumed his
vitals. The muscles of his face were agitated by convul-
sions. His lips moved, but no sound escaped him.

That nature should long sustain this conflict was not to
be believed. My state was little different from that of my
brother. I entered, as it were, into his thoughts. My
heart was visited and rent by his pangs. " Oh that thy

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frenzy had never been cured! that thy madness, with its
bHssful visions, would return ! or, if that must not be, that
thy scene would hasten to a close ! — that death would cover
thee with his oblivion !

" What can I wish for thee ? Thou who hast vied with
the great Preacher of thy faith in sanctity of motives, and
in elevation above sensual and selfish ! Thou whom thy
fate has changed into parricide and savage! Can I wish
for the continuance of thy being? No."

For a time his movements seemed destitute of purpose.
If he walked; if he turned; if his fingers were entwined
with each other; if his hands were pressed against oppo-
site sides of his head with a force sufficient to crush it into
pieces ; it was to tear his mind from self-contemplation ;
to waste his thoughts on external objects.

Speedily this train was broken. A beam appeared to be
darted into his mind which gave a purpose to his efforts.
An avenue to escape presented itself ; and now he eagerly
gazed about him. When my thoughts became engaged by
his demeanor, my fingers were stretched as by a mechanical
force, and the knife, no longer heeded or of use, escaped
from my grasp and fell unperceived on the floor. His eye
now lighted upon it; he seized it with the quickness of
thought.

I shrieked aloud, but it was too late. He plunged it to
the hilt in his neck ; and his life instantly escaped with the
stream that gushed from the wound. He was stretched at
my feet; and my hands were sprinkled with his blood as
he fell.

Such was thy last deed, my brother! For a spectacle
like this was it my fate to be reserved! Thy eyes were
closed — thy face ghastly with death — thy arms, and the
spot where thou lyedst, floated in thy life's blood! These
images have not for a moment forsaken me. Till I am
breathless and cold, they must continue to hover in my
sight.

Carwin, as I said, had left the room; but he still lin-
gered in the house. My voice summoned him to my aid;

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Charles Brockdcn Broivn

but I scarcely noticed his reentrance, and now faintly
recollect his terrified looks, his broken exclamations, his
vehement avowals of innocence, the effusions of his pity
for me, and his offers of assistance.

I did not listen — I answered him not — I ceased to up-
braid or accuse. His guilt was a point to which I was
indifferent. Ruffian or devil, black as hell or bright as
angels, thenceforth he was nothing to me. I was incapable
of sparing a look or a thought from the ruin that was
spread at my feet.

When he left me, T was scarcely conscious of any varia-
tion in the scene. He informed the inhabitants of the hut
of what had passed, and they flew to the spot. Careless of
his own safety, he hasted to the city to inform my friends
of my condition.

My uncle speedily arrived at the house. The body of
Wieland was removed from my presence, and they sup-
posed that I would follow it; but no, my home is ascer-
tained; here I have taken up my rest, and never will I go
hence, till, like Wieland, I am borne to my grave.

Importunity was tried in vain. They threatened to re-
move me by violence, — nay, violence was used ; but my soul
prizes too dearly this little roof to endure to be bereaved
of it. Force should not prevail when the hoary locks and
supplicating tears of my uncle were ineffectual. My re-
pugnance to move gave birth to ferociousness and frenzy
when force was employed, and they were obliged to consent
to my return.

They besought me — they remonstrated — they appealed to
every duty that connected me with Him that made me and
with my fellow-men — in vain. While I live I will not go
hence. Have I not fulfilled my destiny?

Why will ye torment me with your reasonings and re-
proofs ? Can ye restore to me the hope of my better days ?
Can ye give me back Catharine and her babes? Can ye
recall to life him who died at my feet?

I will eat — I will drink — I will lie down and rise up — at
your bidding; all I ask is the choice of my abode. What

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is there unreasonable in this demand? Shortly will I be
at peace. This is the spot which I have chosen in which to
breathe my last sigh. Deny me not, I beseech you, so
slight a boon.

Talk not to me, O my reverend friend! of Carwin. He
has told thee his tale, and thou exculpatest him from all
direct concern in the fate of Wieland. This scene of
havoc was produced by an illusion of the senses. Be it so ;
I care not from what source these disasters have flowed;
it suffices that they have swallowed up our hopes and our
existence.

What his agency began, his agency conducted to a close.
He intended, by the final effort of his power, to rescue me
and to banish his illusions from my brother. Such is his
tale, concerning the truth of which I care not. Hence-
forth I foster but one wish: I ask only quick deliverance
from life and all the ills that attend it.

Go, wretch! torment me not with thy presence and thy
prayers. — Forgive thee? Will that avail thee when thy
fateful hour shall arrive? Be thou acquitted at thy own
tribunal, and thou needest not fear the verdict of others.
If thy guilt be capable of blacker hues, if hitherto thy con-
science be without stain, thy crime will be made more
flagrant by thus violating my retreat. Take thyself away
from my sight if thou wouldst not behold my death!

Thou art gone! murmuring and reluctant! And now
my repose is coming — my work is done I

304